


Philistine

by user115 (Idonquixote)



Category: Gargoyles (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Biblical References, Blasphemy, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Goliath makes equally terrible decisions, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Non-Explicit Sex, Please Forgive me, Ridiculous Premise, Robot Sex, Self-Hatred, Self-Worth Issues, Stockholm Syndrome, This needs 100 warnings and I am so sorry, Xanatos is horrifyingly amoral, problematic content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:02:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6871387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idonquixote/pseuds/user115
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And like a string, he would keep unraveling, until he fell dangerously, painfully, beautifully into David's waiting arms. Then David would let go and watch him plummet on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Philistine

**Author's Note:**

> Truth be told, I just wanted to type some pointless Xanatos/Goliath crack smut. But then I decided to add a dash of angst, some violence here and there, references to the Biblical David and Goliath, and then it spiraled from there. This story went out of control and somehow became one of the most emotionally draining things I've ever written. Xanatos is amoral to the extreme here.
> 
> This fic is primarily Xanatos/Goliath, but not in a romantic way- more in a disturbing, twisted way. Other pairings include Puck-Owen/Xanatos, Fox/Xanatos, past Goliath/Demona, past Goliath/Othello, and hinted Goliath/Elisa. It's an AU of season 1, taking place before Reawakening- timeline's not too important but it's before the clan moves into the clocktower. Most definitely AU because oh boy, does this thing get wild.
> 
> I really have nothing else to say about why I did this other than the fact that I am very very sorry, and don't fault anyone for immediately leaving this story once they read the following list of warnings.
> 
> Warnings: Unhealthy shipping, non-con elements, dubious consent, bloodplay, semi-explicit sex, violence, torture/mutilation, stockholm syndrome, self-worth issues, mental breakdowns, severe injury at one point, blasphemy, borderline comical amount of angst, general amounts of fucked-up things that could not get away with a T rating, uncreative sex, hurt no comfort
> 
> Extra note: No, I do not condone a single thing that goes on in this fic
> 
> * Footnotes at the end

  _"What will be done for the man who kills this Philistine and removes this disgrace from Israel?"- David_

  _1 Samuel 17:26_

Once upon a yesteryear, he caught butterflies with his father's worn fishing nets. He would cut them down to size and fashion weapons of stick and screen. Those were the summers he recalled most clearly, the only memories not plagued with his mother's ill, gaunt face or the harsh reprimands of his poor sire's tongue. His solace lay in those tiny creatures floating in the sky. Beautiful, patterned, free.

Miracles of nature, they were called. Fool's talk. Because the boy knew nature was but a canvas painted by man, a new world meant for man to take, conquer, seize and dominate. So he trapped those blissful animals in the wind. For he loved them so. And he could not bear to part with them after a mere glance. He tossed those nets over their crisp wings and brought them through the threshold of his humble home.

They were so beautiful- rich in color, vibrant with life- _magnificent_. He would not see them go gray with age. No, he would preserve them as they lay, now and forevermore. This gift of immortality he would bestow upon them. For he was their god and they were but insects in his garden of Eden.

He kept a box of thin tacks in his beaten drawer. He would pull them out one by one, and gently, soothingly, he lay his lovely prey on a cut board of cork. One by one, they would struggle against his digits as he beat back their wings, a futile fight against his inevitable victory. But he welcomed the struggle, reveled in the power of holding life and death in his skin.

He pinned their wings to the board and watched them flutter in slowing desperation. He loved everything about his butterflies, especially this silent pain in their final fleeting moments, a pain that grounded them at last, confined them to his world and his alone. The life seeped out eventually, as all life would, leaving behind nothing but still corpses, painted wings forever fixed in place by his expert pins.

He remembered one monarch in particular, a behemoth of a butterfly, the richest in beauty he had ever been blessed enough to look upon. Fierce violet wings batting in the sky, decorated enough to fit a king. It had been a dear struggle for him to capture, but like so many in his collection, it had succumbed at last. It had even drawn blood from his hand in its attempts to break free, a valiant effort from a son of nature.

But even the monarch found itself stretched on his cork board at long last, and the boy took slow, delicate pleasure in pinning it down. First, a needle through the left's center, a slight crunch as it broke through wing. Then the right. And as it squirmed, he continued his task, an artist devoted to his noble craft. He lined the edges of each wing with tacks, careful to leave his opponent no room to maneuver, no room to fly. With such damage, it would never take to the sky again.

It took seven days and seven nights before the creature went still at last. And ever vigil, David Xanatos had never left its side. This was his Eden and he was its god.

* * *

The world slowed to a stutter. A jaw clenched, teeth grinding within, every ounce of willpower working to keep his muscles still, preventing him from pouncing and tearing the man to shreds. Owen Burnett's words continued to tremble in his ears, the man himself eerily silent, his spectacles dotted with moonlight. Blood trickled from clenched talons.

The thought of throwing this man off the rooftop's edge was a crude, senseless whim. Goliath turned away instead, directing his view at the bright city lights, a marked contrast to the dim castle they stood atop. All the difference between his clan and that of David Xanatos'.

_"Mr. Xanatos is offering a compromise. Will you oblige him?"_

A sense of deja vu misted over him. He had been in the exact same position not long before, Xanatos himself making a near identical statement. And he had demolished their surroundings in frustration, willing his mind anywhere but into alignment with the wretched human. It had made no sense to him then. They had bested Xanatos. Yet the castle remained _his_. Their home, their rock, the very object that his kind had raised and dwelled upon, as near to them as the very blood in their veins, the only remnant of their world from a time lost to those lights below. And even that was to be pried from his hands. No, he had thought, no.

_"He intends to leave you be. The castle will be yours indefinitely. All he needs is a trade in return."_

_"We have no more interest in dealing with the likes of him."_

_"We, Goliath? Mr. Xanatos wants nothing from your clan."_

After such an effrontery, Xanatos dared to strike the subject again. Callous, calculating, cruel, all traits he associated with the man named Xanatos. But his rage towards Xanatos was a mere blanket for that which he felt towards himself. Because without hesitation, without a moment's thought, Goliath had felt a spring of hope well within. For an instant, he had hoped this compromise would return what was rightfully theirs, _his_. And then reality had pulled him back in like a sinking anchor.

The others may have been speaking behind him, but their words fell on deaf ears. He couldn't help but wonder what the detective would say had she been present. Likely something similar. She was preoccupied, this much he knew from a prior conversation, and Goliath suspected Burnett had somehow gotten wind of this information. It would make no difference- his mind was made up.

Naive, Xanatos had once called him. He really was a fool. And here he was, continuing to play that man's fool. The thought had enraged him more than anything else.

_"What would he have me do?"_

_"Now that must be arranged in private. I do warn you, your choice matters little. Mr. Xanatos is a persistent individual."_

And a false compromise at that. But Goliath would have expected no less from Xanatos. He forced a breath out, let the tension leak away. Naive, perhaps, but not daft. Regardless of what Xanatos wanted, Burnett's words did not bode well and he intended to see to the bottom of it. The gargoyle faced the man once more, Burnett's hair near the color of bleach under the moon's glow.

"I accept. Take me to him," he said with enough stoicism to match Burnett's own. And immediately, the protests came, each voice fighting to speak at once.

"Hey, we're all on the same page here," Brooklyn's voice cut in, with no small amount of restrained anger, "whatever Xanatos wants, he can tell all of us, right here, right now-"

"It's probably a trap- no, I _know_ it's a trap," Lexington growled. An accusing talon pointed in the assistant's direction.

" _Enough_ ," their leader grunted, soon after Broadway's "I don't like this" entered his ears. He ignored their arguments.

He would see Xanatos and put an end to his schemes then and there. There would be no waiting this time. Burnett nodded and before Goliath could follow the assistant away, he found himself flanked by the clan, each junior trying to pull him away. He felt Hudson's hand on his shoulder, a loose futile clamp.

"I hope you're doing the right thing, lad," his mentor said lowly, weary disapproval in his eye.

Disapproval reflected in all their eyes, and Goliath suspected it did in his own as well. It was a losing fight they were waging him against their leader, a noble effort but for naught. Goliath pushed past them, each reluctantly stepping aside to clear the path that led to Burnett, and beyond him, Xanatos.

* * *

_"Choose a man and have him come down to me. If he is able to fight and kill me, we will become your subjects." - Goliath_

_1 Samuel 17:9_

He didn't have to turn around to know what the gargoyle looked like. David allowed himself a bemused smile. As soon as the doors to his office opened, he could hear the tempered steps from curved feet, could almost feel the hot, furious breath of statue-turned-flesh. He imagined a thunderstorm in place of Goliath's face, and he knew it was accurate to what he would find. Muted thunder, such was his Goliath.

"Mr. Xanatos," Owen addressed, no doubt pushing up his glasses without a drop in beat.

"Thank you, Owen. I'll handle things from here."

And still, he refused to rotate the chair. David grinned. Yes, let the gargoyle seethe even more.

"Xanatos," came that rumble of a voice.

"It's good to see you too, Goliath. I was looking forward to a little heart to heart for quite some time."

"Cease your chatter. What is it you seek from me?"

"Well, if you're in such a rush, I guess I should cut to the chase."

In his mind's eye, David could see the gargoyle's breath hitch. _I'll keep you waiting, my friend_. "I don't think we got off on the right foot, if you will. There's been quite a lot of trial and error in our... relationship here."

"Trial and error!?" One notch from a roar.

"Now what have I done? Can't I even speak?" *

"You know perfectly well what _you_ have done! On with it, Xanatos, you try my patience."

David offered a chuckle in response, slow, deliberate, and meant to boil a gargoyle's already searing blood. Yes, he knew what he had done but here he sat, on his throne once more, and there Goliath stood, as he had stood before Prince Malcom and his kin so long ago, for in the end, Goliath had always been forced to defer to man. And now he would defer to David's whims as well, as he had done for so many before.

Abruptly, the chair swiveled, and David found himself face to face with the snarling gargoyle, Goliath having grabbed the backside and forced it around. The table was now the only barrier between them, ironically untouched by Goliath's seeping fury, much to David's amusement.

"What do you want?" the gargoyle growled.

_He could bite my head off if he wanted_. David smiled. _But that would never even occur to you, would it, my friend?_ He placed a warm hand on the giant's shoulder, caressing the smooth muscle beneath.

"I want to do things the old fashioned way... your way. You and me, no one else. Let's have a rematch."

Goliath raised a brow ridge in surprise, expression all too easy for David to read. "You wish to... fight me?"

"The terms are very simple and I don't see the harm in taking me up. If you win, the castle is yours- me and Owen take our leave."

"And if you best me?"

The man grinned. "The castle is _still_ yours."

If there had been an inkling of trust in Goliath's before, it instantly dissipated. "I fail to follow."

"I'm not hiding anything, Goliath. Either way, your clan gets to stay here. But if _I_ win, fair and square, I'm going to charge rent."

That thoroughly confused the gargoyle and the sheer puzzlement on his face incited another laugh from David.

"My terms are simple," the man said, choosing the most concise words, "I don't expect money. I don't even expect you to do my bidding. We both know how disastrous that went. What I want is something much simpler, much more... enduring. That is the only term I have. In return, you keep the castle."

"You speak in circles, Xanatos. What is this 'rent'?"

"A _surprise_."

The corners of his mouth remained curved upwards when the gargoyle growled in his face.

"And the clan?"

"Irrelevant. Trust me when I say none of this will affect them. They get to keep their home, that's all there is to it."

Goliath frowned, leaning away from the man at last as he stepped back. Arms crossed under folded wings. "Anything else I should I know?"

"When I said old-fashioned, I meant old fashioned. I want us to follow the terms, no matter the outcome. I'm a man of my word and I trust that you are too."

David stood up then, ready to seal the last piece of his game. He straightened to his full height and extended a hand, smirk never leaving. "How about it, then? Do we have a deal, Goliath?"

The gargoyle hesitated, dark eyes sizing up David's own, but the man knew he would find nothing but sincerity. For what man would be lost in his own kingdom? Goliath nodded and as he stepped forward, answered with a low " _yes_."

His hand went past David's own and grasped his forearm, firm and gentle, and exactly what had been expected. David grinned once more. This was a picture he would be hard pressed to forget, the moment Goliath of Wyvern walked into his own doom.

* * *

If Xanatos was a grinning devil crouched in shadow, then Elisa was an avenging angel soaked in fire. And he, Goliath, was the damned city it rained upon.

"You're kidding me!" the detective shouted, hands outstretched in exasperation as she paced before him, hair fondled by the evening breeze. " _You don't have to do this_. You didn't- UGH!"

Goliath opted to ignore her, but with each turn of his back, he found her before his sight yet again. Detective Maza was most persistent, even more so than the silent clan watching their argument unfurl from a distance. It was an inevitable outcome. He knew this too.

"I found you guys a new place," she sighed, rubbing a palm against her temple, "you don't have to stay here. You _shouldn't_ stay here."

He said nothing, a hollow part of him knowing full well that she spoke the truth. And his actions counted as a betrayal to her, he knew this as well. For that, he was sorry. But for that, he did not regret, not with the castle within reach once more. It was a despicable cycle.

"What part of 'not safe' did you not understand, big guy?" Elisa asked, grabbing his arm, " _look at me_. And now you go and sign some crazy deal with Xanatos- there isn't a trustworthy bone in his entire body. We should call Owen and cancel the whole thing right now."

"No!" he retorted, louder than he hoped. That set her on edge even more.

"It's not a matter of honor, alright!" she cried, "do you really think Xanatos is going to hold his end of the bargain? Show up one on one with you and not have something up his sleeve? And he wants you to pay 'rent' if he wins? Whatever that is? Assuming you're still alive? _Do you have any idea how crazy this sounds?!_

He pried his arm out of her grip, Elisa jabbing a finger into his chest. "Well, do you!? If you don't care about yourself, fine! But think about everyone else! Are you seriously going to leave them hanging here if anything happens!?"

"Nothing will happen," he snapped back, fangs bared, "the only one affected is the castle we stand on. No more!"

He stormed off, a crash of frustration eating at him like a festering wound, bitter and unyielding. Yes, he knew how insane the preposition was to her, he knew the consequences she spoke of were no fantasy. But Elisa Maza, for all her virtues, was _human_ , and his unwavering devotion to this brick cage was an element she could not fathom. _You would be free away from it_ , her words seemed to say.

But she did not understand. He would never be free from it so long as both he and the castle stood. It was the parent and he, the child, the master to his servant, the earth to his sky, the final breathing member of his dwindled clan, and he could not abandon it, even if he so wished. He was bound to it, as was his clan, each and every one of them sharing soul and flesh with this unmoving mother as if it was the fire of Hestia's hearth, and they, her embers. It was a curse that loved him like a haunted blessing, and the possibility of breaking it was nothing short of an impossible dream.

"Goliath!" Elisa called behind him, "Goliath! Hey!"

"Tis no use, lass," he heard the old gargoyle say, landing between them in a flutter of leather.

"But-"

Even if he plummeted from the castle, his broken wings would force him back to the very top, and even then, he would relish in the punishment for his betrayal. It was a cycle he lacked the will to break. Elisa's speech would change nothing- he tried to listen, but the act itself was useless. Goliath was a part of Castle Wyvern and his fate had long since been burned in stone.

* * *

Burnett insisted that they meet on neutral ground. Outside Manhattan, he had specified at Xanatos' command. But did Manhattan not count as neutral ground? Goliath had countered. The city did not belong to Xanatos, as far as he was concerned, but Burnett had met his gaze unblinkingly and informed him that _Mr. Xanatos does not want the advantage of his city_.

His city. The curt way Burnett had delivered such words readied him for battle. His city. As if the sky itself belonged to Xanatos and with it, the clan as well. This was a fight the gargoyle intended to savor.

Per Burnett's cold direction, he followed his robotic double into the air and away from the island as soon as the sun dipped. Within his armor, Xanatos did not address him even once. The silent trip ended at long last when Xanatos arrived in a shallow valley, mechanical wings folding. Goliath was soon to follow, landing a foot away from his enemy.

There was nothing but forestry for miles above, the valley itself a barren combat area save the five boulders that lay carelessly along its edges. *

The leader of the steel clan seemed to assess his opponent twice over before finally speaking in a familiar muffled ton. "Good thing we picked a windy day. It wouldn't be much fun if you fell in the water on the way here, would it?"

The response was a snarl.

"Not talkative today? That's fine." Xanatos raised his fists. "Let's get started then."

Imagining the smirk adorning the man's mouth was all it took to send Goliath flying at him. He slammed into Xanatos, tackling him several feet back, and proceeded to throttle the mechanical head. Before he could land another punch, Xanatos kicked him off with a grunt. The man jumped back to his feet, knocking Goliath to the side in the process. He delivered a clear uppercut that sent the gargoyle crashing into the nearest valley wall.

"Eager, aren't we?" Xanatos asked.

Shaking the debris from his shoulders, Goliath lifted himself off the earth and pounced once more. Xanatos made an audible sound of pain when the attack stole his balance. As he toppled, the gargoyle wrapped his own limbs around an iron torso. Goliath arched his back and pulled Xanatos over his head, intent on shattering the man's crown against the dirt. But the human refused to go down so easily.

Xanatos latched on to the gargoyle's sides with his own steel talons, digging into skin. The pair went down together, tumbling against rock and dirt, dust and air. Goliath wriggled free, dragging a fist across dented metal. He pushed away, wings spread to their full span. Xanatos mimicked and they took the air. Goliath launched himself headfirst into the man's chest and Xanatos was forced backward. The gargoyle did it again when he regained his weight, continuously barraging Xanatos with his violent assault.

After he had effectively cornered Xanatos into the valley's edge, the man latched his hands onto a leather wing and swung him in the opposite direction. Goliath forced himself to rebound immediately, but he was not quick enough to avoid a square blow to the nose. Xanatos punched him again and he felt the rip of skin against teeth. Spitting out blood, he returned the next blow with a swing of his own, then another that connected directly with the visor of Xanatos' helmet. Hot electric sparks followed and Xanatos, his vision no doubt blurred by the last attack, failed to see Goliath come again.

His fists pounded against his opponent's unguarded chest and when Xanatos finally managed to gather his bearings, Goliath raised a tail to whip him back. More sparks followed when the man's backside hit the valley wall.

"It ends here, Xanatos!" he roared feverishly.

Goliath charged, a victorious savagery bursting through his being. He closed in for the finishing blow, both arms raised and hands closed together to complete the final clobber of their duel. Xanatos inched back, hand slashing behind his own head. Goliath dodged the rock that came towards him, effectively disrupting his blow. In the space of the second that he took to notice the flying rock, Xanatos launched another shadow at him. So fixated on the face of his enemy and the rage of his interruption, the gargoyle failed to dodge a second time. The boulder consumed his vision.

And then Goliath fell.

Clouds moved down under and the earth rose above.

The back of his head smashed against the ground in a red haze, the breath shot from his lungs. As his world slowed to a sluggish crawl, the sensation of blood tickled his face, warm and free after breaking from damaged skin. The pain came next, the numbing stroke of a brush against the limp canvas his body had been rendered. And above him, Xanatos stood, a hazy figure clad in crimson steel.

The rock that felled him had rolled to the side, split in two and stained with freshly spilled blood. A metal foot came over his chest, keeping him pinned as it pressed and bruised a cage of ribs. His thoughts jumbled and meshed, bleeding into one another as he struggled to stay awake. Xanatos raised an arm, sharp claws poised to strike the gargoyle's helpless throat.

The blow never came. Instead, Xanatos pulled his own helmet back. Hair matted with sweat, his tired eyes met Goliath's bleary gaze. And before his world went dark, Goliath heard the man say, " _I win_."

The last thought he had was a vague recollection of David having triumphed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone. *

* * *

In all honesty, David was exhausted from the fight and had no desire to make it home by his own power. His limbs were battered and sore and he was sure Goliath had managed to bruise a good number of ribs somewhere along the way. The pain was an annoyance, but the thrill of the duel itself was not something he regretted. If anything, it had only managed to add more fire to the flame within him.

_Was it satisfactory?_ Owen had inquired upon arriving with the chopper.

_More than that_ , had been David's reply as he entered the vehicle. He did not miss the glint of apprehension in Owen's eyes when he sat himself in the back. Licking his dry lips, David looked back to the heavy prize in his arms, the conquered giant of Wyvern, lying as still as a rag doll. By his hand and his hand alone.

David rubbed a talon over Goliath's forehead, the steel appendage coming back stained with scarlet. _You played right into this._ He touched the gargoyle's mane, the strands almost silky as they parted for him- so smooth against steel, he wondered if they would be so smooth against skin. He gently shifted the weighty body, straining to lift Goliath's marred head towards his own. Lips briefly brushed against dark locks, entwined with the scent of blood and dry leaves. He drank in the texture, soft and tame, as otherwordly as he had only imagined.

That was the image his servant glimpsed when he turned to address him. David made sure of this.

When they landed at the Eyrie, David felt little surprise towards the ragtag crowd that greeted them. He had counted on such an outcome and it was almost boring how closely they followed his imagined patterns, like marionettes strung along a puppeteer's steady hand. The disdain Goliath's kin felt for him was only surpassed by Detective Maza's hatred. David was unable to feel any emotions for them, let alone reciprocate their feelings- and so, he welcomed their ill will.

As expected, the gargoyles did not take kindly to seeing their leader in such a state, even less so at the sight of him lying across David's arms.

" _You_ ," the smallest one had gasped, hardly waiting a beat before charging. He was held back by his crimson companion, but the gargoyle was unable to stop the third member of their trio from reacting verbatim.

"Broadway!" Maza cried, uselessly rushing after him.

If not for his own fatigue, David would have been amused. But he had foreseen this and he supposed his next move would greatly inconvenience Goliath until dawn. _No matter_. He had already acted before Broadway charged and the head start made all the difference. It always did.

Suit still in power, David grabbed the clan leader's limp arm and snapped. The sound of splitting bone stopped the incensed gargoyle in his tracks, his face going slackjawed with horror. Even the elder Hudson's blade nearly dropped in response.

"He's alive in case you're wondering," the man explained calmly, "but keep this up and that might change." He released the arm, Goliath's limb drooping slackly.

"Let me at him!" Lexington bellowed from his spot on the ground, the taller gargoyle keeping him pinned at the arms. "Let go of me! Let me go!"

" _Can it_ ," Brooklyn growled, but his eyes were fixed on David from behind that beak, and their look flashed murder.

"I could have Owen tend him. These certainly aren't life threatening injuries," David said, in much the same tone he used to discuss the weather, "but I doubt any of you would let me through here."

"You've got one thing right," Maza said with pure vitriol. In contrast with her companions, the detective's gaze was not on David, but locked on Goliath. And this detail was too delicious for David to forget.

He walked past Broadway and Maza on easy steps, not bothering to spare either a second glance, but he did take care to let Maza see him cradle the gargoyle, delighting at the breath she held. Goliath was _his_ and she bore witness. Without warning, David deposited his burden into Hudson's arms.

He had thrown his catch back into the wild, but it would return to him, for it was marked and such was the fate of branded beasts.

* * *

Goliath awoke to a shape haloed by dim lights. His shaky vision struggled to adjust as the events of earlier hours played through his aching head. Before he could bring his right arm towards the source, he found that it was bound in a makeshift sling. Confused, he tried to recall when any damage to the limb had been received, and to further perplexity, failed.

"How you feeling, big guy?" a tired voice asked, pulling him out of his revelry. It came from the shape, which he soon realized was a mass of flesh and bone.

"... _Elisa_."

His eyes fixed on her. Her face was a mask of worry, weary lids fighting to stay awake. A vulnerable tenderness lay open atop her, one that cried at him to reach out- _Elisa-_

"Dinnae go too well did it, lad?" Hudson's gruff voice entered his mind and soon Elisa was blocked by the sight of the elder gargoyle coming to stand by his prone form.

Hudson placed a light hand on Goliath's head, talons brushing past the heavy bandage that wound across it.

"No," the younger sighed in reluctance.

"So what will ye do now?"

"I will abide by his terms."

"Xanatos' terms?" Elisa asked sharply.

The named sounded foreign to Goliath's ear- the reality of his bargain set in. He had lost and soon, Xanatos would come to collect. What, he did not know, but he would have to provide. He had lost.

"Yes."

And Xanatos would make sure all the world knew, this much Goliath was certain. He looked up, eyes meeting a tapestry hung high above the walls- the patterns, he dimly recollected- it was not a room he was privy to enter, and once, was forbidden to enter. They had laid him in Prince Malcom's chambers. Once the recognition set in, he felt an instinctive pull to sit up, some conditioned part of him protesting the very defilement of the bed holding his form. He only managed a shift, one that produced an audible groan as his throbbing arm subdued all movement.

He was aware of Elisa calling his name when the pain subsided, her hand having slipped its way around his own. Hudson's gaze was familiar as well- he had seen it once a memory ago- his mentor's resigned, chastising look, reserved for disappointing fledglings.

"The bone was snapped clean at the joint, lad. You'll have to live with it 'til dawn."

Conflict welled within the older gargoyle's shadow, a mixture of love and pain, and Goliath knew the root of his somber mood- ashamed at what he wrought upon Hudson, he turned away. Elisa's small hand gave his a gentle squeeze.

"We'll deal with all this tomorrow. Just rest, big guy."

He felt as if he was still at the valley, struck and falling in a neverending cycle- he supposed it was just the result of a damaged skull.

"I'll be right here," he heard her say.

Had he drifted off so soon? _Forgive me._

* * *

_"O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock. The meat it feeds on." - Iago 3.3_

Owen slid off him like a shadow, not a drop of sweat breaking from his pristine form, a streak of white against the sunkissed sands of his master's skin. David absently grappled for the man in the dark, lips parting for the fae's sweet kiss. Owen Burnett was human flesh, simply a man and nothing more; spectacles gone, even more so.

And thus, his treats were but the treats of man.

As Owen moved downwards, quick hands passing over David's chest, the master spoke. "I appreciate your effort, Owen. But you know who I want."

The man stilled, giving an uncharacteristic pause between slow breaths. "Of course... sir."

David watched from his place on the bed, as he had done so many times prior, as Owen shrunk in one graceful arc of motion. Sleek arms reached for Grecian shoulders as the trickster returned, hair draping over David's bare body in a pool of soft white. David returned his servant's grin as he fondled those pointed ears, rubbing the cartilage until the elusive Puck all but purred against him.

His pet nipped and suckled with childish glee, as if desperate to stimulate David in every way he knew, determined to please his king by force alone. The man moaned as Puck sunk lower, placing himself between David's thighs and touching his member with petal lips. The fae was a volatile force, a being of pure pleasure and impish deceit, almost unfitting of his lithe form. Yet David knew this was all his Puck would ever be.

He let the next moan linger, fingers digging into the fae's pretty head. This head could take a thousand forms and many more, but what lay within would not change, not in this century or the last. And therein was why he lay above while Puck knelt below, for David was a creature in flux, demeanor ever changing and whims vexing even Oberon's kin.

Almost by accident, David's mouth parted in a shaky whisper, " _Be him, Puck_." Almost.

The life ebbed from the impish face as blue eyes flashed upwards, brimming with forced mirth. "Owen." Puck shot a crooked grin.

" _You know who_."

Blue became black and David sneered as the trickster's grin turned to a gargoyle's scowl.

* * *

_"This is what will be done for the man who kills him." - 1 Samuel 17:27_

He healed without so much as the shadow of a scar. Sun and stone had pulled bones back and closed skin on scalp. Goliath was whole, all traces of injury as nonexistent as his victory over Xanatos. The man himself was the wound that refused to close. And now, he was left to ponder what Xanatos planned, like a gazelle willingly throwing itself in the lion's path, as Lexington had so elegantly said.

Hudson had left him to his own devices come nightfall, but that same gleam of tragedy remained in his mentor's eye. The elder gargoyle knew him well- perhaps better than he knew himself- and he knew there was nothing Goliath could do save meeting the fate that he had seized himself. The trio had attempted to convince him otherwise yet again upon seeing his awakened form, and again, were swatted back by his biting words.

_"Goliath, he'll kill you!"_ Broadway had pleaded, with an urgency that had almost succeeded in giving him pause.

_"Take us with you. If not, just take me. I really don't like the way this is going,"_ Brooklyn had suggested, in another plead disguised as advice.

And lastly Lexington, after vicious agreement with his brothers, had snapped at him for brushing them aside- _"Xanatos can't be trusted! You're the one who said so! I really don't think you know what you're doing, Goliath"-_ followed by that elegant analogy. That is where the younger gargoyle failed; Goliath knew what he was doing. He supposed he had always known.

And he wondered, if perhaps it was inevitable for him to fall under a man named David. But such thoughts, he knew would not sit well with his underlings. So instead, he had curtly said, _"No more of this- I am your leader. You three will obey. Now leave me."_

One by one, they'd trailed away, not without their fair share of sharp words and broken glances, as if he had forced them to die and sleep all over again. Then there was Elisa, who had approached as he watched them glide off. _"Want me to leave you too, big guy?"_

He hadn't known what to say. Not daring to look at her- noble Elisa, as loyal as either human or gargoyle could hope to be, he had betrayed- Goliath said nothing, closing his ears off to her concerned warnings. He suspected that if Bronx was capable of speech, he too would have cried out. But the beast was true- he knew when to leave its leader be.

In some bizarre mirror of the night Wyvern fell, Goliath walked away from his clan against all warning, convinced that he could face their enemies alone. But this time, it was not to ensure victory- it was to accept his defeat.

* * *

Burnett had led the gargoyle into what was once Castle Wyvern's dungeon, a damp chamber Prince Malcom had sometimes allowed them entry for the sole purpose of frightening some chained prisoner. He recalled that his ang- _Demona_ had taken special glee in the task. And afterwards, she would whisper to him, in her firm biting way, that it was only a matter of time before the prince attempted to chain them in as well, but she would break from her bonds and tear his head off should the night come.

Goliath had simply held his mate, marveled, and laughed at her imagination. She had been warm then, so warm.

"I'd rather not repeat myself," Burnett said, "so I hope you were listening."

The man smoothed his hair, eyeing the shapes that lined the walls, old models of the steel clan, each bent and broken in some way or form, and encased in webs of shadow.

"Where is Xanatos?"

"I'll tell him you missed his presence." Ignoring the growl that followed, Burnett pulled a device from his pocket and clicked, activating a series of whirs and clicks from the shrouded dark mass in the very back. "Mr. Xanatos is rather sincere about his terms. He wants you to accept willingly."

"I _have_ accepted."

"Everyone has the capacity to lie, even you, Goliath." With that, Burnett stepped back, steel reflecting in clear lenses as the last robot approached.

Goliath stared, in a mixture of horror and fascination, as his steel twin knelt before him, clutching what appeared to be-

" _What is this-_!?" he demanded, violently turning on Burnett, yanking the man by the collar, and lifting him into the air.

"Think of it as a gift," Burnett replied, unflinching, "you have been alone for quite some time."

Goliath threw the man aside, Burnett audibly landing on the stone floor without so much as a groan. He rounded on the robot, its mechanical tail swishing in anticipation, that steel member throbbing with movement as it crouched.

"You expect me to... _take this abomination_!?"

Burnett picked himself up, glasses crooked. "You accepted the terms, Goliath. Mr. Xanatos had predicted such a response so we start here. Do what you want with it- it will not affect my superior." He pushed the spectacles up. " _Take it_ , as you said, and I will report that you're willing."

"And if I don't?"

Goliath bent to examine the organ, a near replica of his own, and a sense of violation crept through him.

"It takes you. And I report that it failed."

Both choices brought on a taste of bile. He glowered at the robot, its emotionless face staring at him in some twisted mockery of hope. The dungeon walls were thick, leaving its inmates to scream into an abyss of echoes, this much he recalled. Not an ounce of moonlight would come through.

"Only Xanatos will know?" he questioned, voice hollow against tongue.

"I assure you. Xanatos and I. Your clan will never know, should you choose not to disclose this. And neither will Detective Maza."

_Elisa_. He thought of her face, the pained way she had looked upon him for so many nights. He thought of his once-mate's sharp grin n the dark. He thought of the trio he had sent off into the night. Goliath did not have it in him to betray all that he knew once more. Shaking his head, he knelt at the contraption's level, pressing his forehead against cold steel. For almost a moment, the world was silent, and in that brief sense of respite, he made his choice.

"Owen," he said lowly, as if drawing out each word, "turn away. Tell Xanatos... he failed."

"Understood."

Goliath made no move, eyes cast on his own knees, hearing nothing save the robot's shifting and his own bated breaths. It took a beat for the creation to recognize that he would not touch it. The gears moved in its programming, a hum emitting from its body as it adapted to a different life, casting aside its fate to take on his. Cool talons sunk into tense shoulders, and though he had expected no less, Goliath was nonetheless unprepared to hit the floor as those talons pulled and dragged.

He landed on his torso, momentarily dazed by the creature's aggression. A weight fell on his back, inciting a shudder as the steel organ brushed against his spine, hard as rock and cold as stone. He felt appendages move over him, assessing its target and roaming over skin, until the hands reached cloth and closed on belt. The weight slid and a bout of cool air fell over him as the the garment was thrown aside. His talons dug into the floor, cracking stone as a blossoming pain entered. It pushed and bloomed, and split and tore, a sensation of gunpowder lighting from within.

And a floor of stone had never been more rigid against him. As the contraption tore through him, he recalled that- once, he had been on soft grass, moonlight falling through.

The creature clinging to him was rhythmic and calculating, steel and wire, a steady painful force of man- a god of binary. It had been crafted by Xanatos, and face buried in the ground, Goliath couldn't help but imagine that man's grin behind him, delighting in the sheer humiliation and thrill of carnal triumph. He cried out in a muffled shout.

He had been warm on the grass, lost between pain and pleasure, talons eagerly gripping the one behind, body halfway between begging for respite and the act to go on. Had he begged?

But begging would do nothing here.

The robot only had one goal- there was no emotion, this much he was certain, and it had no means to temper its movements, a titan soldier of electric. It forced itself in, bruising shoulder blades as his wings snapped out of their own accord. Steel hands held them in place with crushing force, the relentless pattern continuing in spite of his cries. His voice bounced off the walls, halfway caught between an agonized roar and a bitter groan.

He thought of his angel of the night instead. Not _Demona_ , no. The rookery sister who he had loved so dearly. He thought of her boldness the night they mated. It had been so warm. She had been as rough as he was gentle, a perfect balance that had for one moment, convinced him that all was right with the world and he had found paradise in her arms.

It plunged further in, a sudden warmth sliding upon impact. Blood.

Not this, but _that_ \- that was what mating was. He had promised her everything and for a time, she was indeed his everything. He struggled to remember her tender touches- he recalled his rookery brothers saying she hadn't a gentle bone in her body- they were wrong- she was soft in his embrace, tender as she stroked his hair, picking out leaves and petals that had tangled themselves in. In those moments, her words were eloquent, her demeanor kind. He had felt like a brute beside her, but by some miracle, she had loved him regardless.

He tasted iron as he bit his tongue, unwilling to scream again for Xanatos. He tried to wriggle under the robot's grip, only to feel its crushing hold pierce his frantic wings. He howled in a break of sweat.

The steel organ slid continuously in, its unfeeling master pounding so rapidly that Goliath found himself smeared against ground, flesh rubbed raw from every which way.

Droplets of red trailed down limbs, the offspring of clawed wings and broken skin. He half expected to melt to dust come the next round of pain, and instead, it tripled, again and again until he could no longer tell scent from sight.

_I am Thisbe and you are my Pyramus_ , she had once whispered, a blush of pink dusting blue skin as they flipped through the ancient poem, hand over hand, his mind unable to make sense of written words. It had been their secret, a moment hidden and lost to time.

The thrusts gained, powering their way into him until his body all but plowed into stone, voice burnt from crying out. A low moan took its place. He felt the blood pooling beneath, ever growing and splashing between thighs as the robot pressed on. Steel pounded skin, unaffected by friction on metal and fault in flesh. Tears blurred his vision, their mere presence confusing his tortured senses.

_"Only we will not be as stupid as some lovestruck humans,"_ she had said as he fondled red locks, " _you and I will live on. Now and forever_."

But she had died that fateful night a millennium ago. And in her place, Demona had come, and he supposed he too had died that night- or perhaps even earlier, perhaps he had died the night they first called him Goliath, and when Goliath had taken his place, he had been buried along with her.

A sharp gasp echoed in place of a scream.

He opened at last, taken by a burst of unwanted pleasure as cum spread against ground. Its goal achieved, the robot stopped altogether, stiffly removing itself from his body and returning to its default crouch. Goliath groaned, flipping on his side in harsh low breaths, the semen wet against his shuddering skin.

"I'm impressed," Burnett remarked, "that took longer than we estimated."

He supposed the words should have enraged him, or maybe they had. He was too numb to know. Crumpled wings shielded him as he curled, involuntarily shivering and moaning in turn, a trail of red and translucent white following him as he inched away. This was a pain that muted him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Burnett bend to examine the robot, its artificial member covered in blood, dripping like globs of paint below.

And then Burnett was beside him, sinking to his knees and tugging at aching wings. Instinctively, Goliath shrank away.

"Relax."

Immobile, he could only watch as Burnett pulled the wings back with inhuman strength. Then the man moved one leg away, examining the mess it hid. Goliath stared downwards, transfixed by the fluids that covered his lower half, layered with so much blood and cum that he failed to recognize the skin as his own. He realized he was still shaking, body soaked in sweat, and when he attempted to rectify it, only succeeded in curling in even more. Burnett's cold assessment continued.

"The damage is bad, but you should survive." He placed the wings back where they lay. "I'll have to leave you with one more choice."

" _What_?" Goliath rasped, throat burning from the sensation of moving chords.

"That thing tore you apart, for lack of better word. Moving in this condition would be unwise. And I doubt you would want your clan to see you in this state."

Burnett stood up. "You may have me assist you back out. Or you may rest here until tomorrow."

Stay here? Goliath considered his options, each more unappealing than the last. He could stay, so near to the source of his agony, and wait, stained and broken on the cold ground until dawn. Or he could continue his humiliation at Xanatos' hands by letting Burnett escort him out, whatever the means entailed, and then somehow look his clan members in the face after subjecting himself to such degradation. Worse yet, to allow Elisa to look upon the pathetic wreck he was. _Had always been_.

Foolish Pyramus had goaded the lion. And allowed it to devour his flesh until nothing but bones remained. Goliath looked to the steel lion that had feasted on him, and wondered, ever briefly, if it had found him as worthless as all the rest.

"I stay," he croaked.

"I thought you would."

He shut his eyes, lacking the strength to wipe them dry. As Burnett's steps grew dimmer, Goliath choked on the odor of blood and semen, putrid scents he would have to contend with until the sun rose. He allowed himself one more shiver, relishing in the comfort of being alone- Burnett was gone, the one man who had witnessed this had left him be. In an attempt to level the pain, he gingerly unfurled his wings and looked once more to the resting contraption.

Its lower half glistened with red. And suddenly filled with enough rage to quell the shame, he propped himself up and half limped half leapt at the robot. Talons tore through steel as he crushed the head in his hands. And then, like everything else that was a part of him, his body gave way. Goliath collapsed in a snarl of frustration, the robot falling over him, limbs once more entwined in his. Revenge denied, however petty, he crawled his way out of the heap, dragging blood with each sluggish movement, and fell once more on his face.

Sore wings again tried to hide him from the dark, coaxing him into thinking this was not the dungeon. This was the rookery- the leader had sent him in for playing too long. He had neglected his chores in favor of his brothers' woodland spree. He had felt as much wounded pride as a fledgling could feel.

This was the rookery- dawn would pass and come dawn, the leader would let him out.

He forced his tail to move, the extension rising to stroke his own back, a much needed distraction from the hurt and shame. His mate, his clan, his castle, his dignity- he wondered what more he could possibly lose, for it seemed that there was nothing left to take.

Xanatos had been the cheated one in this deal. For Goliath had nothing left to give.

* * *

Once upon a summer, the monarch had been vibrant with color, and now as he stared at his boyhood hobby, all David saw was a shriveled corpse. The cork board was plastered to the wall that boasted his collection of achievements- awards garnered, magazine covers, hard-earned investments. It was a drop in his sea of spoils, but this drop was especially dear to him.

He had been a wistful, lonely youth and those butterflies had been his steadfast companions- so eager to make them stay, he pinned them to the earth, _now you can never fly away from me_.

Stroking his chin, David mused on Owen's words. As he predicted, Goliath had chosen destruction at the robot's hands in the most brutal of fashions, for it had not occurred to the gargoyle that the outcome would have been the same either way- he would feel twice as sullied had he taken the robot instead and thrice more so had he gone back on his word to David. But none of that would get through Goliath's simple head.

Owen had suggested he go see the dungeon at dawn. There was no need- he knew what to expect, more or less- a stone gargoyle worse for wear and the robot likely wrecked in a pointless fit. For everything that happened before, he had the footage, from a camera hidden behind a brick that Owen had promptly removed and destroyed at his orders. Goliath had kept his word so David would keep his- he had the footage destroyed as well not long after. No one would ever know.

But David admitted it was a shame. The sensuous sight of the clan leader brought to his hands and knees, teeming with blood and sweat as he struggled against his own undoing, inevitable and tarnished- it was beautiful, a height of tragedy that only one as magnificent as Goliath could achieve. And like a string, he would keep unraveling, until he fell dangerously, painfully, _beautifully_ into David's waiting arms. Then David would let go and watch him plummet on.

David turned his gaze on the monarch once more. He shivered at the thought of such a fall, a stunning heartrending fall.

"Mr. Xanatos," a dry voice said as the doors behind him slid open, "Detective Maza requests your presence."

David turned, only to see Maza shove her way past Owen and appear under his nose. Instinctively, David lifted his chin to avoid being hit by the crown of her head, the detective balling fists as she stood her ground.

"My my, this is quite the entrance. Didn't know you were one for theatrics, detective."

"Shut it, Xanatos! Goliath, where is he?"

"You don't think we spent the night together, do you?"

" _Xanatos_!"

He stepped back and offered a crooked grin, casually adjusting the lapels of his jacket. Maza's glare bore into him, her chest heaving in restrained breaths, ready to break and blow any moment. But he knew the cop- she would stay where she stood and shout instead, for that was what these types of humans think best. And he wondered just how much he could push such an ordinary woman.

"He's quite well. I'm not suicidal, detective- his clan would have my head otherwise."

"You sound more suspicious by the second."

"Do I now?"

Such an ordinary woman, and yet she too would try to catch Goliath- then how ordinary could she be? Innocently, she would try to prevent his fall, unaware that David was beside her, waiting for that moment- she would vie against him and she would fail.

"He never came back to the parapet. They almost tore the castle apart looking for him."

She would fail because David refused to.

"Then clearly they weren't looking hard enough. And I thought this clan competent." He chuckled. "And isn't he a grown gargoyle, detective? I think Goliath can do what he wants without all of you pushing your noses in."

David approached leering, half hoping Maza would strike him in the face. "And let's not forget he and I had a fair deal. I'm a man of my word- of course he's fine. And I do hope he is, detective. Because you see-"

He crossed his arms, Maza grinding teeth. "-the only thing I want from him is just that. Here with me, alive and well."

He metered the final blow.

"Goliath is mine. And he's agreed to let me do whatever I please. Does that satisfy you, detective?"

David found himself pulled to Maza's level when she fisted her hands through his lapels and tugged, a violent act of muscle.

"I take that as a no?"

"Let's get this straight," Maza hissed, "you don't own any of the gargoyles, not even Goliath." _Especially him_. "And there is no force here or there that lets you do what you want to anyone or anything- let that sink in."

She let go and whipped away from him, shoulders slumped in rage as she stormed away. David nodded at Owen and without a word, the servant followed her out. The monarch did not fly.

* * *

"Nothing."

Indeed, nothing had happened the previous night. Goliath refused to give Xanatos the pleasure. And the clan was forced to accept his lie, ever wary of his every word.

"You doubt me," he said flatly, catching a guilty glance from Broadway.

"Goliath-" Brooklyn began, but their leader was in no mood to listen. He stopped the conversation with a wave of his hand- no one would know and as far as he was concerned, the incident was nonexistent.

"It is nothing of your concern." He shifted towards Lexington and Broadway. "Or yours. Guard the castle and stay clear of trouble."

With that, he left the trio in a tired slump, Lexington's muttered "he's one to talk" trailing behind him. It took him a beat to remember that Lexington was not privy to last night. No one knew save himself and two others, and of the little things he dared to trust the duo with, he trusted them to keep this secret. Pushing back the sudden fear that seized him, he walked on. Let the trio think what they will- their minds would never jump to such a sordid conclusion.

It was by sheer luck that Elisa had not been by their sides at sunset. But she would be there soon and he wondered if he could conjure the gall to look her in the eyes. He stopped at the library, the smell of parchment and ink enough to cast away yesternight's odors. Goliath all but buried himself between bookcases, somehow comforted by the grand room's empty warmth. Words on paper entered his mind and slid right out with every turn of the crinkling page, some ripping as he flipped.

These were antiques, he knew, perhaps irreplaceable. He found he did not care. Stooping under a shelf, he absently tore the paper out, nerves calmed by the act and sound, a crude remedy for whatever ailed him.

"That be no way to fix yer problems, lad."

Hudson's voice jolted him. A loud tear followed, Goliath's action caught by surprise. He lifted his head to see the clay-colored gargoyle, crumpled paper bunched in guilty hands.

"Hudson."

"You're tired."

A rough palm came to rest on his shoulder as Hudson approached. Goliath sighed, the ruined book falling across his knees.

"Perhaps."

Hudson's reply was cut off by a low whining, Bronx bouncing in from behind the gargoyle's calf. Goliath had failed to notice the his presence. Bronx pressed his head against the leader's thigh and Goliath was sorely tempted to bend and bury his head in the beast's neck. But such behavior would alert Hudson, he knew.

"I am out of sorts," he admitted.

Hudson sat down beside him, taking the book from his lap. The old gargoyle held it up against the library's warm light. "Well, there's one book I'll never read. Did a mighty job on this one, ye did."

Goliath muttered an apology as he scratched the beast's chin, attempting to offer Bronx a half-hearted smile.

"Hiding won't get ye anywhere," Hudson said, "tends to worry the lot o'us."

"Then what should I do, old friend?"

"I'd say pull down that pride first. But only ye know how to do that, isn't that right?"

Pride. Did he have any left? He knew what Hudson was asking- setting aside pride was one thing. Setting aside shame was another. And he was unwilling to sacrifice either, for he supposed they were all he had left.

"Aye," Goliath said, releasing his grip on Bronx.

Hudson stood up and dusted his pants. "Then come, lad. Elisa should be here now."

He stiffened, phantom panic gripping him once more- he could not look at her, not now. Shame bled into pride until there was no difference to be sought. "I will," he lied, "you go ahead."

And Hudson had thought so well of his protege that he did. But Goliath was not a creature deserving of such goodwill, this much he knew, and frozen in his corner, he saw Burnett's pale face approach. This was the fate he had resigned himself to instead- Elisa would be better off with the rest of the clan. And he-

"You recovered nicely. Mr. Xanatos will be pleased."

"What now?"

"Follow me."

* * *

Burnett abandoned him the second night- Goliath was left to fend for himself against the reconstructed members of Xanatos' makeshift clan, five identical bodies of steel and cable. Again, he stood in the dungeon, and again, they sought to bring him down. But this time, he refused to yield; Burnett told him to do as he pleased, and Goliath had no intention to perform otherwise. He would burn through them like fire, leaving behind nothing but shared ash and dust.

_"Mr. Xanatos believes you'll enjoy tonight much more than the previous. Think of it as an apology."_

Their eyes glowed red, unfeeling and cold, much like their removed _brother_ from the prior night. They were much too familiar and every motion they made ignited a primal fear within him.

_"We could care less for these models."_

A fear that turned to rage, propelling him forward and directly into the center robot's torso. He attacked without thought, mindlessly clobbering metal as if he was watching from the outside in. He felt steel skin bend and tear under the weight of his fists, every action as surreal as the reality that failed to register. He fought in a frenzied daze, pulling out wires and plowing through the mechanical body, braving the sparks and burns that followed as if they were nothing more than gnats in his vengeful path.

_"I could care less for Xanatos."_

Claws raked across his back, the sensation of blood pulling him back to reality, or what was left of his. He turned, in time to accept a fist to his jaw.

_"Is that so?"_

The remaining foes descended upon him like a rain of stone, hammering him to the ground in unrelenting pursuit. He pushed himself up, carving his way through pitiless metal muscle, and pulled one into a tight embrace before throwing it at the wall. It crashed and fell in a flurry of broken electricity, and he heard someone laugh- a bitter, low sound.

_Burnett hadn't let him answer._

It was his own. Goliath reveled in their destruction, his own pain a small price to pay. The two that still stood charged him at once, knocking him off his feet and into the wall opposte, a good chunk of stone flying out against impact. As he shook away unconsciousness, steel arms closed around his chest and lifted. The other approached and he was soon lost in a barrage of heavy hits determined to tackle every part of his body.

The blows were unmetered, equal in size and weight, a feat no being of flesh and blood could manage. His head snapped to the side yet again and he wondered- blood splattered out- was this all the difference between them? They spilled wire and oil, and the rest of them would eternally spill blood. They would meld back together with precision and sturdier chrome, allowed back into the workshop of their master and rejuvenated without a second thought. And they- he- was subject to the cycles of nature, aging stone, a pile of broken flesh that served a dead master, one that was no match for these steel titans.

But he refused to let such humiliation happen again. Once more, his spine was pressed against steel and as soon as the creature behind bobbed, he remembered the pang of insertion that followed. In a blind panic, Goliath ripped himself out of its grip, lavender flesh tearing as he forced his way out. He turned and plunged an arm through the robotic chest, a spew of black erupting against him and mingling with red. The laughter seized him again and once more, he saw himself tearing the robot apart in glee, biting through wire and clawing through steel. He took the head in his hands and pulled it from the neck, crumpling the cranium until there was nothing left to break.

He snarled at the last of them, challenging it with a roar of adrenaline. Descending to all fours, he crouched and circled it, the latter mirroring his every action. The face was a mechanical replica of his, the last that remained, and at last, he realized why he despised it so. Not for Xanatos nor for the events of the past- no, he resented it for his very visage. He loathed that image and in his desperation to tear himself apart, he _did_.

The robot was no match for his fury. When he finished, Goliath was left on his knees in a pile of dented steel and wire pooled in oil, his own flesh drenched in red and black.

* * *

Xanatos had gotten the best of him yet again. Goliath ruminated on his "gift," now comprehending what had been laid before him- it had been a test, perhaps made on a whim by the man, to show the gargoyle where his guilt truly lay. And now he knew. He wanted to direct that frustration at Xanatos once more, but the weight of the answer refused him the energy. If anything, he had been offered catharsis, an offer he shamelessly accepted. Not for the first time, he wondered how many traps Xanatos had laid for him and how many he had knowingly stumbled into.

As the memories bled through his throbbing head, he recalled one trap after another tracking his feet, like a neverending trail of thorns that adorned him long before a man named Xanatos had come into his life.

The night draft brushed against his face as he stepped into open air, the roof top strangely unfamiliar in his state of mind. He wandered forward-

"Goliath!"

He snapped to attention, Elisa's face coming into focus. She approached him quickly, a touch of anger in her expression that quickly melted into abrupt concern when she stopped. Had he been shivering? Paling, she extended a hand to touch a spot of blood on his chin.

"What-" she began.

"Nothing," he said, a lie that he soon regretted upon remembering the oil and blood that was spattered about him. In disbelief, Elisa poked at a charred piece of shoulder, telltale signs of claw marks in the red cut across it.

"Xanatos," she hissed under her breath.

The name sounded wrong on her lips, as if tarnishing her person. He sucked in a breath when a familiar clattering of feet entered his ears- the clan was surrounding him, faces layered with shock. And he wondered if his shame was so obvious that it was on display for all to see. He stepped back, too weak to fight their bombard of questions.

Goliath shook his head as he backed away, their words suddenly incomprehensible to his senses. Brooklyn was soon in front of Elisa, Lexington and Broadway eagerly stepping forward. In horror, he realized the extent of their concern- he had failed them too many times. Hudson's earlier words returned to haunt him. No, he couldn't subject them to this- to yet another example of why their devotion was so undeserved.

"Please," he heard his own voice say, "leave me."

He turned from them, eager to escape somehow- he needed to be removed from them, to hide away from all the guilt, to disappear into the night. He needed the very opposite of what they offered. He felt a hand touch him from behind. Looking down, he saw Burnett.

"Take me to him," Goliath rasped. _Away from them_.

He needed Xanatos.

And to what he assumed to be questioning protests, Goliath disappeared into the castle once more, Burnett leading him onwards.

* * *

_"When a lion or a bear came and carried off a sheep from the flock, I went after it, struck it and rescued the sheep from its mouth. When it turned on me, I seized it by its hair, struck it and killed it." - David_

_1 Samuel: 34-35_

"You've proven your point," Goliath growled, "what do you really want of me?"

The gargoyle directed the question from his place on the ground, hugging wounds under folded wings as he leaned against the corner of what was Wyvern's once grand chapel, voice filling the oratory in a ghostly echo. David clapped Owen on the back as he came to stand before the gargoyle, forcing Goliath to stare upwards from his slouch. As it should be, David mused.

"It might be better to ask what I _don't_ want."

David bent the knees of his power suit. "You came to me this time, didn't you?" He pressed a talon against a bruise under Goliath's eye, the latter wincing in contact. "You did the right thing, Goliath. They wouldn't understand. They're a little too straightforward for that. But I do."

Dim candlelight bounced off stained glass, fractals of distorted flame washing over them, figures frozen in unison. The ceiling was the sky and this dominion was David's to conquer.

He leaned in closer, lips almost brushing lavender skin as he spoke, "get up now- we'll get through this together."

Reluctantly, Goliath obeyed, too defeated to question David's words. But he would give the gargoyle more credit than that- no doubt, Goliath already suspected what was to come. Like a winded toy, he followed David's directions without question, and soon, he was lying on the altar, head pressed down in his arms, as still as a statue that had always dwelled within the holy hall.

"This suit comes equipped with many functions."

Goliath watched David approach with the corner of his eye, no visible reaction as the man activated the suit's connected member, a shine of lubricant gleaming over it in self-replenished whirs, his flesh-and-blood controlling the machine's every move.

"This no longer surprises me, Xanatos," the gargoyle murmured dryly. "Your depravity knows no bounds."

"Oh come now," he said, "you might be surprised."

David stood above his impressive form, taking in the sight of what was finally his- battered and dirtied, Goliath willingly lay before him, tamed into submission at last, stunningly beautiful at his very lowest. And David would push him even further down, determined to mold that beauty into what was finally tangible.

He bent over Goliath, gently pulling the loincloth away with all the care of a lover. Then David took him, hands grasping limp muscles in a solid grip, and organ pressing inwards in a gingerly slide. He was as soft as Cupid himself, molding Goliath like water against stone. David offered every tenderness the gargoyle had been denied, talons brushing through sable hair in light strokes, careful not to jolt a single hurt as he bobbed in and out. And however wary, Goliath gave in.

He felt the body soften beneath him, wings slowly unfurling in pleasure. Goliath moaned, his voice pure velvet against David's ears. Unable to contain the sheer pleasure that it instilled, David held on, clinging to the gargoyle as he moaned along. And again, David yearned for more.

"Why?" Goliath said in a half whispered sigh.

"I can read you," David all but purred, "I can read you better than all of them."

Goliath shifted, David moving in tandem against him. "You wanted this to happen- you wanted to be punished." He traced a cut on the gargoyle's cheek. "You think you deserve it."

"You-"

David heard a gasp as he thrust his weight in- he could take away his kindness as easily as he had given, and this Goliath would soon know. He wrenched his hands into the gargoyle's hair, digging until he scratched scalp and Goliath released a muted groan. This was a power that David alone held and a power that Goliath would allow, for David would meet his every need.

"I won't have to coax you any more," David said, panting as he entered, sweat breaking over brow. "Why did you come to me?"

"I-" Goliath heaved. "I-"

He had found the ailment and only David held the remedy, a cruel medicine that Goliath would readily gulp in his bitterness. Centuries of guilt would wash away at last, and in that one moment of pained respite, he would be free from a millennium of disgrace.

David rose, clambering over a scratched back, fresh blood squeezing out. "You let them die."

Goliath groaned, David plunging in with the force of a lightning bolt. "You murdered your clan, lost their home-"

David's hair escaped its bundle as he moved against muscle, strands loose against sweat. "-led them to me... you spilled their blood and now you want to shed your own. You want this pain-"

He pressed a talon into an open wound. "Isn't that right?" Goliath made no move as he dug, fresh sweat glistening over bruised lavender. "You don't want to be healed. You want to hurt."

David removed the talon and sticking to Goliath like a wing to a moth, he raised an arm once more. His palm claimed the gargoyle's forehead, Goliath eyeing him in a fevered daze.

"It's alright," David said in reverent breath, "you can let go. I'm here now-"

He pressed down, Goliath's head moving against his palm, without noise, without struggle. The whisper of candle flames surrounded them, as if rising to meet the neverending expanse of glass that stretched above, buttresses and tapestries entangling through two stories of crafted stone, bound and still forevermore.

"And I absolve you."

Ahead, Owen stood between the pews of the mighty hall, a stoic witness to the union on the altar across.

* * *

Of all the creatures that had intrigued him, the woman born Janine had intrigued him the least, for she was coming alarmingly close to being his other half. Better, perhaps, or worse, it made no difference. Fox was the companion David knew he would only meet once in a lifetime. She suspected this too, for she was willing to wait and bide her time in prison.

"We'll be together soon," he had promised over the phone, Owen's voice repeating his words on the other line. His servant had visited her in his place, wired to deliver David's every word and stutter without fault.

"Why the rush? Maybe I'm enjoying my break," she had teased.

"I could say the same. It's been an interesting pass of time."

"So did you fuck your gargoyle yet?"

"Such language, miss Fox."

"Oh David, I wish I'd been there- now I'll live the rest of my life in regret."

He smiled in spite of himself. "Owen can fill you in."

"Owen, I'm so jealous."

"I'll make it up to you when the time comes. Bet on it."

"Oh, I will." She chuckled. "But you're playing with fire here."

"How so?"

Her voice dipped into a sultry laugh. "I know you, David. You're going to call this some romp in the hay. But you're a romantic at heart- your gargoyle boy will make you feel, and then he'll have you trapped."

"You're so sure?"

"It's going to end in heartbreak for you."

David felt a stir of vexation- he knew Fox as she knew him. He would believe her, for better or worse, and again, he found himself in awe of this woman. _I'm in love with you_.

"That sounds unpleasant," he said instead.

_I love you too_ , she would have said. Instead, she replied in a teasing purr, "but don't worry. I'll be there to pick up the pieces." The line went silent.

He put down the phone and leaned back against the swivel chair. He pulled up a sleeve to glance at the silver watch- an hour to sundown and fifteen minutes to Owen's return. The game would take a turn, by Fox's words, and Goliath would quite accidentally, land him a crippling blow. A smirk crept across his face. That would be something he looked forward to.

* * *

On the third night following their deal, David had nothing planned, or rather, that was how he intended to appear in Goliath's eye. And so, he found himself sitting in the great dining hall, table laden from front to rear with food and wine of the finest sorts. Meat and fruit were strewn across silver and china, lobster and bread decorating plates of brimming soup, every bit flavored to perfection and touched with a hint of the fair Puck's magic. As if plucked directly from a hedonist's dream, the table stretched on.

"Mr. Xanatos."

With a grin, David stood from his seat, once tailored for Prince Malcolm, and stretched his arms in greeting. "Thank you, Owen. I'm glad you could make it, Goliath."

The large gargoyle only nodded, regarding him with tired eyes. He made no protest when David wrapped an arm over his shoulder. "I hope the rest of them didn't give you two trouble."

"Detective Maza tells me to voice her disapproval, sir."

"Noted, Owen. And the clan?"

Goliath stepped out of his pseudo-hold, wrapped wings trailing like a cape. "They do not take kindly. But I'm at a loss as to what course to take." On the subject, he said nor more as Owen guided him towards the seat on David's right.

Their reactions held no interest for David and it was mindnumbingly easy for him to piece together the first events of the night. No doubt, Goliath had chosen his stone sleep elsewhere in the castle. His companions would have attacked him with questions and accusations, likely directed at David himself, and mind still struggling to come to terms with the night in the chapel, Goliath would have growled for silence. And once more, Owen would have saved him from the detective's further prying.

_Tell her we're in the dining hall, Owen. She can join us if she wants_. But she wouldn't. She would rather speak to the old gargoyle and conduct some plan of her own to impede him. Her, he could read all too well.

"What do you want of me now, Xanatos?" Goliath asked, eyes downcast in a sleepy stupor.

"It's been a rough few nights for you." David lifted a goblet of wine. "Physically, I mean. I wanted to offer you a break this evening- replenishment, strength."

"You expect the two of us to eat all this?"

"If you put it so bluntly, yes." David took a sip and set the goblet down. He leaned in and reached for Goliath's face, tucking in a strand of dark hair, and like a newly acquired pet, the gargoyle tentatively allowed this trespass.

"But actually, I was hoping you could eat most of it and I take care of whatever's left over for the next few days."

Goliath raised a brow ridge and for the first time that night, looked David in the face. The man removed his hands and placed them under his bearded chin.

"This is my castle- I know everything that goes on inside. And I know that you've been skipping meals. You eat once, what, every two nights? Or four?"

He took another sip of wine. "Don't look so surprised. Broadway goes through half my supply in one night and I know for a fact, the kitchen's been understocked since I left."

"You did that?" Goliath said, with no small tinge of bitterness.

"I was in jail, but think what you will." Owen stepped between them to refill the goblet with a swish of blood red wine. "Fact is I know what you've been doing for your underlings, Goliath. Very noble, but you won't have to starve yourself in secret anymore. I'll make sure you have enough to eat."

He reached for Goliath's face again, fingers touching the gargoyle's frowning mouth. "Now open up. Come now, it's not poisoned."

As Goliath's lips parted, David lifted the goblet and tipped a trail of wine down his throat, the gargoyle drinking thirstily, unable to fight the weight of David's words any longer. Sure that Goliath had his fill, David released him and set the cup down.

"Well, I've been waiting for a long time and quite frankly, I'm starving. Dig in."

David grabbed a nearby drumstick, patiently waiting for Goliath to follow suit. Slowly, cautiously, the gargoyle reached for a loaf of bread. He consumed in mechanical bites. And then Goliath ate. He scarfed down apple after orange, core and all, snatching racks of lamb and whole spits of ham. He wolfed through half the plates, leaving behind chewed bones and peeled shells. David watched him, fascinated by the feral manner in which the gargoyle chewed and drank, like a starving man stumbling upon food for the very first time. It was a display instinct told him that Goliath had shed long ago, but now, David was _allowed_ to see it- it was no accident, for Goliath was granting him permission.

He remembered Demona's recollections- once upon a time, this hall was forbidden to them. This was the site where she and her mate had been shamed by the princess and her dining subjects. David thought of their life before Wyvern, foraging for food in the wild, braving the cold and heat and rain and storm. He wondered if Goliath had once been a starving fledgling, picking for edible roots in the frozen winter and leaving the rare bits of meat for the hatchlings at his tail.

And here he sat now, feasting better than Prince Malcom ever had in in one lifetime. Because David had ordered it on a whim. And as he mused, Goliath ate on.

* * *

The youngest members of Clan Wyvern were giving Goliath the equivalent of the silent treatment, assuming Owen's report was accurate. But David knew Owen's observations were always correct. He suspected the lapse in questions was exactly what Goliath wanted, and if the three had planned to needle any more information, they would be disappointed. David was the only one who had any sway over their leader now.

He pushed open the library doors, and approached the armchairs on purposeful heavy feet. Goliath set down the book in his hands and straightened, a glimpse of surprise on his face upon seeing the master in place of the servant.

"Thought we'd change things up a bit tonight."

"You have the armor," the gargoyle said dully, removing himself from the chair. He walked towards David without trepidation, with all the dignity of an exiled king, and again, David marveled at what was finally his.

Goliath stopped halfway, back lit by the library's grand fire, soft orange shading his robe of wings and face of stone. David came to meet him, taking warm talons in his own steel hands.

"You have a penchant for stating the obvious." David turned his gaze toward the rug below them. "This carpet must be new to you. It was taken from the silk road, you know."

"Xanatos, no more talk. What would you have me do?"

The suit's talons brushed Goliath's face, careful not to claw skin. "Kneel for me. And lie down."

The gargoyle obeyed in silence, dropping to a mere fraction of his own height and bending before the floor. Wings unfurled in slow grace, rolling out until they too were pressed to the ground. David knelt behind, holding a gulp of pleasure as he unfastened the loincloth. The garment pooled beside them as David descended, embracing Goliath against the carpeting, low breaths mingling with the crackle of fire.

"Did you put that there?" Goliath mumbled, almost as if he didn't want David to hear.

"What?"

"The painting."

David lifted his eyes- a canvas of rich oil sat atop the wall, held by a gilded frame. He hoped Goliath could hear the smile in his voice. "I thought you'd never ask. Think of it as a little inside joke between us."

"When?"

He was tempted to say, _this morning_ , but David held his tongue. He knew what Goliath was asking. "Seventeenth century, Peter Paul Rubens- I have the real deal. The Norton Simon has the replica." *

The painting stared down at them, defiant, approving, as if willing them to look away. David's namesake stood before the sky, sword raised behind his cherubic head, muscles gleaming in light and splendor as he prepared to slay his downed foe. Beneath his foot, the wounded philistine lay, his face plastered against dirt, and eyes upturned as he struggled to rise.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

David turned back to the gargoyle, running talons through his mane of black and brown, mechanical hips moving in unison with his sheltered body as he bobbed against Goliath's tense form. For this was _his_ philistine, the conquered prize beneath his feet. Goliath shuffled under him, moaning as his talons raked the shifting carpet, struggling to rise and flip in turn.

The shadow of fire bounced over their bodies, orange, lavender, and metal moving in unison under the first David's sword. He hungrily ravaged the body opening for him, Goliath's moans melting into purring growls as David thrust in vigor, wings flapping like sails against the sun. David collapsed over Goliath's chest in a huff, hair matted in sweat, the sound of fire ringing in his ears.

"All things considered," he said in a half-hearted quip, strands of the gargoyle's hair brushing his nose, "you're taking this pretty well."

Goliath made a sound between a laugh and a sob. His face turned towards the shield of shadows, away from David's view.

"It is not the first time I've been in this position," the gargoyle whispered.

David held on, aware that this was the first of many strings to fall apart- and as if afraid Goliath would be swept away with the words that followed, he gripped tighter.

"Who?" he asked, as nonchalant as he knew how.

"Dead... my rookery brother. Only Demona knew, understood- he was under the throes of fever, not in his right mind. We hadn't been willing."

"Was it anything like us?"

"I do not know." That sound escaped his lips again. "He hadn't asked. And I hadn't answered. It simply was."

"Willing or not, you enjoyed it." David touched a lilac chin. "And he loved you."

"No." He shifted against David's touch. "An act of hearsay tore him away. Our brother told him I'd stolen away his mate- it hadn't been the same since."

"First times always end that way." _But you loved him- that's why you let it happen._

"He was not my first." _Demona was_. "And it hadn't just been him," Goliath continued with a pang of bitterness, as if he'd forgotten David was his sworn enemy in that one standstill of relief, "why do you think he was so quick to believe ill of me?"

David cupped his chin and turned him back. This time, there was no protest.

"We had several brothers and sisters, and before they mated, they had several needs. Some of our siblings had stronger urges than the rest- I helped many relieve that pain."

"Demona knew?"

"She knew it was duty."

"You're telling me this because? I think I have an inkling why."

Goliath laughed in his face, a sad tired noise more befitting of a sob. "You have no prize in me, Xanatos. This body has never been sacred, not in this lifetime or the last. You've conquered nothing that hasn't been before."

David crept upwards, placing a kiss on the gargoyle's throat. "But consider this, Goliath. I don't care." He traced the long hair with a smiling mouth. "You're mine. And nothing that's mine is damaged goods."

His hips moved above, forcing the gargoyle to jolt along with him. "Besides, you're mine to conquer. Nothing else matters."

Firelight tinged the painting red and yellow, David and Goliath locked in their eternal struggle, Ruben having already chosen the winner.

"Then hurry and kill me and rejoice," Goliath said through shut eyes. *

"Before you die, open your eyes and see your slayer." David placed a palm over lavender lids.*

* * *

_"For forty days the Philistine came forward every morning and evening and took his stand."_

_\- 1 Samuel 17:16_

Castle Wyvern was held together by stone and mortar, a giant that had been built and torn and raised anew. And here on foreign land, it stood as if it had always been overlooking Manhattan's shores. And for the first time, he wondered if it was meant to be. Goliath brushed a hand against a row of dusty bricks as he walked along a winding column. He bent to inspect a hollow surface, talon poking into its marred face.

He gave it one last tap before pulling the piece out. Behind it, the broken talisman lay, untouched for a thousand years. He reached for it, blue and gold transparent in shadow, and he imagined the castle to be glass. It would shatter, part by part, great cracks against the Eyrie below, and whatever was left of him would break with it.

Goliath recalled when she had given him this token. They had stolen away into the night for Prince Malcom's wedding, a ceremony he had been excited to see in childish fancy. That happiness seemed to have disappeared with his youth long ago, a mere imprint of a feeling he no longer remembered.

His mate's treasured gift was now in his hands, weight so familiar it was as if he had never set it down. He stroked the golden curves, glossing over the jagged edges that reminded him the other half was forever lost. He dared to wonder if she felt the same, a hopeless fancy he was too tired to quell. She had called him a fool many times over, once in love, and now in hate. He sunk, back against the wall, and sat, holding the object over his heart.

_"You're such a fool, a sentimental fool,"_ she would say as arms snaked around his neck. He would lean back and sigh, and let her caress melt over his little problems.

_"Why did you let him, my love?"_

_"Why did you let me, brother? How can you stand to look at me now?"_

"I don't know," he heard himself say. Her touch was not there. And their rookery brother was long dead. She would never touch him with tenderness again, he knew. Perhaps she was still in league with Xanatos even now- perhaps she was watching and laughing at him as he mused.

_"It's all right, my love,"_ she had once said, _"you do not need to be forgiven. There is nothing to forgive. But come, let us forgive our stupid brother."_

She had never seen him as a sullied thing. Of all the things she had called him in one lifetime- slow ( _she had followed the insult with her tail over his_ ), sentimental ( _she glided into his arms_ ), uncultured ( _she took the ill-positioned book from his hands and he'd swept her into a embrace_ ), dirty had never been one of them. _Lovely_ , he remembered, she had called him lovely and in that second, he remembered believing her.

He shook his head. He would never be lovely again, not in her eyes or anyone else's, least of all his own. And he had none to blame but himself. You think you deserve it, Xanatos had said. A part of him knew those words to be true, for Goliath was not a coward- a failure, he knew, but never a coward. He had been determined to pay for the mistakes resting upon his shoulders, and now he was at last.

Body and soul seemed a fair price for what he had wrought upon his clan, but even that did not seem enough to him. It would never be- nothing he nor Xanatos could do would ever fix that balance. Perhaps that was the true reason he felt so dirtied, the fact that he would never be cleaned, had never been clean.

Goliath started as a warm bulk tackled him, familiar growls entering his ears. The beast's tongue lapped over his face.

"Bronx," he grunted in surprise, as if he hadn't seen the beast in years. It had only been two nights since the clan started avoiding him, or perhaps he had been avoiding the clan. Goliath straightened, pulling Bronx up with him.

He set the talisman down and held the beast instead. Bronx was here, solid, real. He buried his head in the beast's neck, comforted by the leathery warmth. "I'm sorry," he muttered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The only response was what sounded like a sympathetic bark. So engrossed in his incoherent apologies, the gargoyle failed to see his mentor's shadow loom in and out of sight overhead.

* * *

The second night in Wyvern's chapel, Xanatos approached him without the armor. Once more, Goliath lay undressed on the altar, but this time, he had nothing more to fear. So used to the texture of steel, his eyes widened upon seeing soft skin in its stead. Xanatos was as bare as the first of men, handsome body sculpted to the rhythm of flesh and blood.

"We're through with the trust exercises now," the man said, "I trust you."

A bathrobe in his arms, Owen shut the doors, their overwhelming echo snapping candlelight every which way. Xanatos took slow, deliberate steps as if forcing Goliath to admire the body he was finally willing to show. He stopped at the altar.

"I'm proud of what I have," he said with a smile, "but I do concede yours is far bigger."

"Xanatos!"

"Is that a blush? I really thought we were over that by now." The smile morphed into the man's familiar smirk when Xanatos leaned and parted the gargoyle's knees.

"Be good for me, Goliath and I'll be good to you."

He perched himself above the gargoyle's member and sat, hands taking the organ in their palms. Goliath moaned, Xanatos rubbing fingers below, wings involuntarily writhing behind his back. Nearly lost to the throes of unwanted ecstasy, he stared across, eyes catching Burnett expressionless in the waning moonlight. Xanatos groaned along with him and a flit of agitation flashed over Burnett's face.

But Goliath had no power to look on. Xanatos' hands came to rest over the gargoyle's ribs, hips thrusting as he bobbed over the protruding member. He turned away, focusing on the great ceiling instead, a sky of holy glass and stone that dwarfed everything beneath them. He was nameless once more and Xanatos, Xanatos was-

Goliath parted his lips and released one word in a broken echo: "David."

"That I am," the man gasped, sweat glistening over moving muscles. _This is my kingdom and I am your king._

This was David, the man who said he was absolved. This was the man Goliath had submitted to, his David. Malcom dead, Katherine gone, and now-

"David," he said to the painted glass, low and reverent, a sacred breath he was no longer afraid to take. He touched naked shoulders, warm and firm in his grasp- real, an anchor that could not forsake him. Goliath pulled and _David_ complied, descending over him like a splash of moving water. He felt human digits grab and twist his hair, stroking and brushing in turn, and hungrily, almost desperately, Goliath allowed himself to enjoy it.

Talons ran through David's brown hair, raking until the tie fell and the strands ran loose over the nape of his neck. The man locked Goliath in his limbs, pressing lips over stone turned flesh again and again. _David, David-_

"You're doing well, so well," David praised in a husky whisper. _Goliath, my Goliath_ , were the unsaid words.

Their bodies pressed together, brown and lavender melding under the shadows of glass. In that moment, Xanatos was no more- David was his lifeline, and Goliath, splitting the image of Xanatos and David, gave him his all. Wings spread and folded over David's arching body, pushing him tighter in. Goliath had nothing left to give, for David had taken it all at last.

* * *

The taste of defeat had never been so bitter, but Goliath had given up the will to care. Xanatos had returned and David was gone. And now the gargoyle lay in Wyvern's undercroft, stone arches crisscrossing the ceiling looming above, decorated by reflections of white and blue from the pool below. He could hear the water moving in slow, calm paces, Owen standing as still as the air around it.

"You know what I'm about to do," Xanatos said, not a trace of David's warmth in his voice. He gestured at the row of needles wedged into the floor, each the length of a man's forearm.

"I do."

"Good. It's something I've been wanting to try for a long time."

Xanatos knelt beside the gargoyle, fingers touching the tip of his wing as if it were hallowed. Goliath lay still on his back, wings spread to their full span underneath, determined to maintain their stoic stand. Xanatos bestowed a kiss on the right wing, then the left.

_Be good for me and I'll be good to you_. Silently, Goliath cursed himself for holding onto such frivolous words from his enemy, but he could not doubt his need for David's comfort. Against his better logic, his mind convinced him David would only come once he had suffered through Xanatos' design. Yes, David would not hurt him, could not, because with David, he was no longer Goliath. He simply was.

The first needle entered the curvature of his right wing, blood spilling fast from where it punctured. Xanatos stabbed down on it until the needle was midway through. He thought of the new painting in the dining hall, a self-confessed replica of Caravaggio's work. The next needle entered through the wing's center. The philistine had been slain, head removed and hair tangled in the hands of a downcast David, the boy's eyes obscured by shadow.*

When the seventh needle plunged into the tip of his wing, Goliath gasped, chest heaving with pain. Xanatos continued to work around him, face lost to the shadows around. He labored clockwise, an unyielding smith in a sea of blood.

"You're ravishing like this," the man said after a pant. "Keep fighting the pain, Goliath."

_Goliath_. He thought of the prince he once served. The night he was named, Malcom had looked upon him with all the pride of a man who won the finest horse, and in his simple arrogance, awarded him "Goliath." His mentor had stepped down and the clan had fallen into his hands- he had taken pride in that moment, as he did in that name. Goliath was a mighty warrior, as strong as he was tall, and in an instant, he had been ready to serve Malcom to his dying breath.

He bit his tongue until he tasted iron, Xanatos sticking the third needle into the left wing. A fresh bout of sweat broke from his tense body.

He hadn't known Goliath's fate- these human stories, he did not know, and the act of reading, even more foreign. His mate had screamed at him when he told her. She had cried and struck him, calling him a fool over and over. The next night, she had chucked a book at his head, a thick yellowed object she insisted he read. She forced him through the whole passage, guiding him through each mystery of a word, until finally the philistine fell at David's hand.

The fourth needle pierced through.

"You'll be stuck on the floor- one wrong move and you'll lose one of these pretty wings. Might never fly again."

The fifth needle entered and Goliath chuckled. "Glide. You should know by now."

"Oh, that's right."

"It makes a big-" he strained as Xanatos stabbed in the next needle. "-difference."

Lying pinned like a great monarch, wings covered with rivulets of blood, Goliath raised a hand towards the covered sky, weighed down by a hundred sharp pains. "My kind can never take flight. Only glide with the whims of the wind."

He was nothing more than a slave to the wind, forever meant to obey its changing tides. Subject to the ever changing whims of nature and man, he wondered if he- they- had ever known freedom, sleep not controlled by the fancy of the sun and wings unchained to the spirit of the wind. It was fitting that he lay defeated at Xanatos' feet, for he was a fool to believe he ever had the chance of winning at all.

The blood pooled beneath him in warm streams. Xanatos curled in front of him, cheek pressing the floor. The man placed a hand in Goliath's hair and stroked with all the softness of a healing god- this was David.

"You've thought about it, haven't you?" David asked, "flying away from all of it."

He held a clutched group of strands to his nose, taking in the gargoyle's scent. "But you know you can't- flying's as impossible to you as it is to me. So we'll just have to make the best of life on earth."

Goliath said nothing, shutting his eyes against the pain, body shuddering in turn, and willing himself to forget all but David's soft touch. And ever vigil, David lay with him for seven hours more, uncomplaining and unrelenting.

* * *

An eternity seemed to pass before he groaned in spite of himself. The pain started anew in stabbing flashes, Xanatos now removing the needles one by one. They lay in a bloody pile, trails of red streaming from their tips, when the task was completed. Hands covered in scarlet, the man motioned for Burnett to join them.

Reduced to shudders and groans, Goliath remained where he lay, staring as Xanatos wiped his palms against Burnett's removed jacket. Without sparing the man a second glance, Xanatos returned to the gargoyle.

"Easy now, come on." He took Goliath's arm in his own and coaxed the gargoyle into sitting up. He bit back the urge to roar and collapse as he stood, wings falling behind him like burnt carcasses, dripping glob upon glob of blood on the ground. Guided by Xanatos' grip, he wandered towards the pool, as if drawn to the water by some urge to drink.

"Let's get you cleaned up now," Xanatos said in his ear, "or baptized, whichever you prefer."

Dizzied from blood loss, he failed to react when Xanatos abruptly let go. The man stepped back and as Goliath stepped forward, he was stopped by a hand raised against his forehead. Standing on his toes, Xanatos offered him a grin and pushed. Goliath hit the water with a bursting splash, the sudden cold reminding him of what had taken place. Clouds of red trailed from his wings, dyeing the water a tint of iron pink.

"When he comes out," he heard Xanatos say, "tend him, Owen. I have to go now."

_David_ , he wanted to call.

As he sunk, Goliath thought of staying down, of letting the water consume him and drag his body into nothing. This time, he would not wake up. He had lost and given up everything once- convinced with shame and grief, he had asked the Magus to end his life. He wanted nothing more to do with the clan and its eggs, nothing more than to join all those he had failed.

He broke the surface with a thundering gasp, clawing into the edges of the pool and sputtering water with every breath. He coughed the guilt out, the gravity of what he had nearly chosen setting in- abandoning the remains of his clan without so much as a second thought. He had failed the dead once. He could not fail the living, not when he had the gall to call them clan.

Goliath crawled out, rolling onto his side as blood and water spread with each inch he took. Burnett's cold hands pushed his shoulders, helping him sit in a half-folded crouch. Half conscious, he felt a towel dab at his head and chest, Burnett carrying out his master's orders with the utmost care, as loyal as he was resentful.

"I'm going to bandage these. Hold still."

It dawned on him why Burnett was so loyal to a man so cruel. Xanatos was always David to Owen Burnett, his king, his anchor, his clan. And too exhausted to think more upon it, Goliath spoke: "you love him."

He winced as Burnett grabbed a wing in a decidedly ungentle yank, hands pressing against the leaking wounds. "Do not presume," he said in a rare break of restrained anger, "What lies between Mr. Xanatos and myself is far more than you could ever understand, gargoyle."

* * *

He knew David's body better than his own, and with no small horror, Goliath wondered if perhaps he had forgotten the touch of his once mate as well. The man was marble the color of desert, a statue in his own right, willing himself to tighten and yield whenever he pleased. Goliath embraced him from behind, pushing in with no sense of restraint, but no groan ever broke from David's lips, only the sound of satisfaction for he had orchestrated this and he had allowed this.

Goliath let go, collapsing on his side and turned as David rose, pressing a hand against his head. The man crawled atop him, one knee digging below his rib, and raised an arm as if ready to strike.* It came down and plowed through his hair, rummaging the strands into a disheveled mess. And Goliath moaned as David fell over him, once more straddling his member. Every curve and mark of David's skin, he knew, as if their texture had been burnt into his own flesh.

"Roar for me. The way you do at dusk," David asked, bending to deliver a kiss.

Goliath felt the touch of lips brush over his own. "I cannot."

He could see nothing but David's panting face above his own, head framed by a halo of bright light from the library's howling fireplace. Talons stroked the man's loose hair, and as he begged for comfort, Goliath confessed once more to his David.

"I wake from fear. The nightmares grip us and we roar."

David bent, burying his head in the crook of the gargoyle's neck, teeth nibbling away at tingling skin. Their namesakes stared down, guilty witnesses fixed on the wall, and ever briefly, Goliath remembered that David and Xanatos were one and the same. With a shudder, he pushed the thought away.

* * *

David would not be with him this night, for Xanatos had not called. And as he tried to divorce the names in childish stubbornness, Goliath allowed the rain to wash him over. He had ordered the trio back inside, in what felt like his first interaction with them in days, and Hudson had followed. He perched on the roof's edge, breaths leaving in white steam, himself a mere drop of smoke under the storm above.

What had happened to him? What sane part of him had possessed him to allow this? _Sane_. He lowered his head, the cool rain a soothing balm for this forced introspection. Without Xanatos' distractions, he had the luxury of thinking- the weight of rationalizing. But it was a moot venture now. He hadn't made this agreement in the right state of mind. And now he wondered if had ever been in his right mind. Perhaps that too had disappeared with the stone remains of his clan.

"Come inside."

That voice, tender and strong- he had missed its sound. Goliath turned, gaze falling on the detective in red. Elisa struggled to keep her eyes open in the pouring rain, staring at him as if he was a treasure she long lost. It was a look he did not and would never deserve.

"Go in," he said, "it's cold."

Elisa sighed, shaking her wet head as she came forward.

"I'm not going anywhere, big guy. Not until you come inside."

He growled, tearing his gaze elsewhere. She would see soon enough that he was not worth waiting for. As he brooded, the rain strengthened, drops striking in harsh slashes. Behind him, Elisa stood, as unmoving as an oak.

"Elisa!" he snapped, rounding on her and leaving his perch. "You'll fall ill."

"And what if I do?"

Goliath towered over her, taking in the sight of her weary visage. And even in clear discomfort, she stood her ground, fighting fatigue and frustration to see to his being. Touched by that nobility, he felt his own eyes shut- _do not wait for me, Elisa_. _Anyone but me_. Wings snapped open and curled around her, pulling her towards him in an attempt to shield her from the rain.

Dry in his shadow, Elisa rested her head on his chest, arms winding around him in a warm embrace. "I miss you, big guy. We all do."

He did not leave the roof and she did not leave him, for this was a standstill neither had the will to fight.

* * *

_"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars. But in ourselves, that we are underlings." - Caesar 1.3_

He admired the new painting hanging over his office wall, a memento of the monarch he had conquered. Gentileschi's David stood proud over the shoulders of a fallen Goliath, the giant's hand raised in surrender and eyes hooded with defeat. The youth would then take his head in one swift motion, his sword raised to swing.*

Licking his lips, David thought of his own victory and the purple philistine he had slain on his own. He stared at his palm, the tangy smell of Goliath's blood still fresh in his memory, blood that the gargoyle had willingly spilled for him and him alone. It had taken all the willpower in the world for David to control himself that night- he had wanted to take Goliath then and there, ever tempted by the sight of his helpless dignity, twice magnificent as he braved the pain and shame. Then for the first time, David had felt his own heartstrings tug for him.

"Xanatos!"

_Well, speak of the devil_. David turned as the doors swung open, the gargoyle charging in with a look of utmost fury. Before he could form a reply, Goliath had pulled him up by the shoulders and thrown him on the table. Breath knocked out, David watched as the giant leered, talons tearing into his jacket and ripping fabric shred by shred.

The gargoyle leaned over him, snarling face looking hungrily upon him, as if desperate for retribution.

"So are you here for revenge?" David asked with a grin.

Goliath reached for his pants. "- Owen?" And froze.

David placed a finger under the gargoyle's chin. "Thank you for the surprise, but it's a bit predictable."

Black eyes flashed blue, the body shrinking to near half its size and girth, and where Goliath of Wyvern stood, now was Puck of Avalon. The Puck stayed atop David regardless, head on his naked chest. "How did you know- I could have sworn it was flawless."

David fondled silver hair, somewhat disappointed the strands were not dark...

"There's more to it than looks. It doesn't matter what I do to Goliath- tear him up inside and out, ransack his home, smash him in with a rock." _Pin him to a corkboard_. "He would never do something like this."

"Hm, yes, it would never occur to his stone noggin."

David laughed. "No. I think it would- he might not know it, but it would." Here, David paused, fingers stopping in the fae's hair. Fox's warning swam in his head as he ruminated. "He would rather _be_ hurt than hurt. Doesn't sound like much, but it's worth admiring on some level. Because I know for a fact I could never do that." _Nor could you_.

He sat up, lightly shoving Puck off him. The fae hopped away, casting him a cool glance, perhaps finally realizing that he had played directly into David's plans. He knew the length of Owen's devotion- he had simply chosen to test that loyalty during his sojourn with Goliath. As expected, Puck was loyal to a fault and as subject to envy as the mortals he mocked.

"Was he not a mere toy to you?" Puck asked with his trademark grin.

David pulled open a cabinet and removed a spare jacket. As he fitted it over himself, he thought of poor Puck, once Oberon's treasured plaything, thence reduced to a desperate servant. Then he had become Owen and in that man, David saw a sure companion, and in his efforts to win Owen over, Puck was cast aside no longer. Again, he was prized and rare, a creature David had fought and bargained for. Then Goliath had come along, and David supposed the fae felt like a used toy once more. _You were never a toy to me, Owen, this much is true._

But for the transgression of acting against his master, David would have to punish the fae. And he knew the harshest words to say.

"He never was," David answered.

As Puck rose into Owen's form, David smoothed his hair, knowing all too well that the transformation was incurred by a need to quell the emotions that took hold of the fae.

"I don't suppose you left clues for Detective Maza too," he said, "maybe hoping she could have stopped me?"

"I made a slip of judgement," Owen replied, head bowing, "forgive me, sir."

David straightened the jacket and proceeded to button up to his collarbone. "So, what was it she found? Video?"

"Semen in the library- yours and his. I did not clean properly."

He whistled. "My, that'll be a lot for her to take in. I assume she was snooping last night, maybe with help. That gives her this morning to draw conclusions. Some time to think and rave, and then-" He glanced at the doors. "Confront us right about now."

And sure enough, the detective burst in on point, shoulders heaving and eyes wide, as if she would explode into a hundred pieces if he so much as touched her. Maza made a beeline towards him, unbridled rage in her otherwise pretty face.

" _You_ ," she hissed, "jig's up."

"I wasn't aware there was a jig."

She stopped in front of him, fists balled tight in an attempt to tame her murderous tremble. _If you want blood, I'll give it to you, detective_.

"How can you live with yourself?" she said in a quiet accusation, "Xanatos, how?"

"Quite alright, actually."

"You know what this is about, don't you?" She shook her head. "Tsk, of course you do, you always do. And it took me this long to see. I must have pegged you as better than this, and that's a pretty low bar."

"Let's not talk around this- you're not stupid, detective." He clapped her on the shoulder. "Congratulations. But there's no point in complaining now. I did Goliath a favor and none of you have the right to speak on it."

"Favor!? In what world is-" the word burned on her tongue. "What you did a favor?"

"Then let me ask you this. What are you so mad about? You're just like the rest of them. You want him on a pedestal, fearless, invincible. But I know better- Goliath is one broken son of a gun and I gave him a gift." He enunciated the next line. "I allowed him to break."

"Just shut it, Xanatos! This is low, even for you, so take those fancy words and shove it."

David chuckled, Maza's nostrils flaring at the sound. "Don't pretend you're so outraged on his behalf. You know what I think- I think you're jealous that I had him first."

He leaned down until their eyes met in a line, breaths stilled by the ever tense air. And for the first time in his puzzle of a game, David did not think- he spoke instead, irrational, sudden, and out of turn, a choice that reminded him he too was but a man.

" _He sounds good on his hands and knees_."

The resounding crack of flesh on flesh whipped through the air. David's head snapped to the side, cheek burning from the sensation of Maza's palm. She stared, speechless, biting her lip until it drew blood, and turned away. He watched her leave in gradual steps, face still stinging from her blow. And with no small amount of incredulity, he realized what had possessed him to say such a thing.

For Maza was not envious of him, but he of her.

* * *

_"I'll strike you down and cut off your head. This very day I will give the carcasses of the Philistine army to the birds and the wild animals." - David_

_1 Samuel 17:46_

Xanatos had somehow fashioned a cork board in place of what was once the Magus' bed. And again, Goliath lay still atop it, wings spread flat and muscles braced for the onslaught of sweat and blood. Xanatos had stripped himself bare and now circled the gargoyle with an unreadable gleam. But what Xanatos did was no concern of his- he would do this for David and no one else. Burnett stood guard beyond the wooden door and neither expected to make any noise.

"Look at you now," Xanatos taunted, sticking a needle through his wing. He traced the blood that streamed and licked it off his digits, as if bent on proving that Goliath now belonged to him, inside and out.

"How the mighty have fallen indeed," he muttered, stabbing in another line of needles with slow, deliberate glee. Satisfied with his handiwork on the left wing, Xanatos moved to the right, pinning it down like a gutted fish. Goliath bit on his tongue, spine arching against the pain, a reminder that he was but a shattered shell in Xanatos' kingdom.

The gargoyle stared at what had become of his wings, now stuck under rivulets of red with a rain of needles lying atop. His remaining breaths came out in long, sharp draws, chest heaving as if desperate to escape the blood flowing beneath him. He felt hands tug at the loincloth, the weight of its belt coming apart, and then he knew he lay exposed under Xanatos' gaze.

He controlled the urge to moan when the man positioned himself over his member. David had come at last and Goliath welcomed him gratefully. Mindful of their silent pact, David thrust slow and steady, prolonging the inevitable climax both would reach. Lost in a fevered combination of sheer pain and pleasure, Goliath writhed, webbed in blood and swallowed moans. Like a dying butterfly, he arched under David's prod and gaze, a ripped and beaten thing that would struggle unto the throes of death.

And then-

" _Get away from him!_ " a voice screeched. " _Get away from him right now!_ "

Burnett's body flew into the room and hit the adjacent wall. He slid down, a seamless burst of red trickling down his head.

Once David stopped, Goliath regained his bearings, the voice finally registering in his mind. Eyes bulging, he strained to lift his head- _no, no_ \- horrified at what he saw. Lexington stood at the doorway, poised to pounce, his bulging eyes now witness to the violent sight at hand. Xanatos had promised him no one would know. Xanatos had- David had-

Xanatos was sitting on the cork board, between himself and Lexington. His face was away, but Lexington's expression Goliath could see all too clearly. It was a picture of utmost terror, pale and nauseated, as if the young gargoyle was ready to collapse and melt.

"Lex-" he struggled to say, voice muted by the pains that suddenly seized him, every break of the needle spearing him into silence.

"Please. Step away from Mr. Xanatos."

Burnett had risen on shaky legs, undeterred by the blood that covered near half his face, and a handgun in his grip. It was trained on the green gargoyle, his eyes still locked on Xanatos, and Goliath had no doubt Burnett would not miss his target. Desperate to cry Lexington's name, he could do nothing but shake his head instead.

Reluctantly, the younger gargoyle tore his gaze away. He fell on his limbs and crawled around Xanatos, approaching Goliath like a child unto his father's corpse. His own vision gradually blurring, Goliath could not make out Lexington's face though he knew what was flying over it- a sensation of betrayal and horror, the likes of which should never have been known. He wanted to apologize, to take Lexington in his arms and beg him to forget, for absolution was too much to ask and far more than he deserved.

And as Lexington's tears fell over his wounds in broken whimpers, Goliath could not help but fall away into nothing, the pain giving way at last.

* * *

Burnett did not come for him the next night, nor had Xanatos, and yet again, Goliath was left at the mercy of his clan, having broken from stone sleep under their gaze. He had no desire to know what led to this position, only a dim memory of Hudson carrying his bleeding form out of the Magus' chambers and the ghost of Elisa's voice. But the scene had replayed in his head again and again until day bled into night, that of Lexington's petrified face at the doorway.

For once, Goliath made no move to escape as the clan swarmed him. And before any of them could speak, Lexington had slipped away, no doubt about to glide away, until he was out of their grasp forever. Instinct compelled him to follow- Goliath shoved out of Broadway's incoming grip, and chased, to what end, he did not know.

"Lexington!"

At the sound of his voice, the gargoyle stopped, meeting his leader midway in Wyvern's courtyard. Goliath neared him, desperate to speak, the desire to run eclipsed only by his desire to stay.

"What happened before- it is behind us," he said. "Please, Lexington-"

"Don't say that," the underling replied, "don't say things you don't mean. I'm sorry, Goliath- I can't... you-"

"I do not ask you to forgive me, but please, forget what you saw."

Lexington shook his head, appalled. Wrapping himself in a roll of webbed wings, he stared at his feet, overcome with a shiver of breath. "That's not what I mean. I... I-"

A gust of wind blew past and Goliath was almost afraid it would sweep Lexington away, for he would be unable to catch him then.

"-I thought you loved us," he managed to say in a wispy push of air, voice catching brokenly at the edge of each word.

"I do," Goliath said, stepping towards the younger gargoyle, only pausing when Lexington backed away. "I do."

"Then why don't you think we love you?"

"Lexington, please-"

"All those things he did to you, did you ever think that he might as well be doing them to us?" Lexington lifted his head, tears flowing freely from those round eyes, and looking down on him, Goliath felt as if a thousand needles had pierced his own heart. "You let him hurt you and you hid it from us and it hurts, Goliath. It still hurts- I-"

"Lexington-"

Wings spread and the young gargoyle turned away- "I can't"- he dove off Wyvern without another word, gliding away into the starless night. Behind him, Goliath heard the clan's approach as he sunk to his knees.

"Where'd Lexington go?" Broadway asked in concern, coming to stoop beside him, Brooklyn taking his other side.

"I- I don't know." He placed a hand on Brooklyn's shoulder, the latter looking on him for direction, eager to be back at his side, as devoted as the cloud to their sky. "You two, after him."

"What about you?"

"Here. I will not leave you, not again."

Brooklyn nodded, a smile in his eyes, and guiltily, Goliath looked away, rising as the two gargoyles took off after their brother. He swayed like a puppet's string, Hudson's grip steadying him before he hit the ground in a mess of limbs. Wordlessly, his mentor pulled him into a hug, wings unfurling over him in a protective screen of leather. Goliath yearned for nothing more than to melt in Hudson's arms like a tired hatchling.

But even this, he did not merit. He forced himself out of Hudson's grip, pushing the elder gargoyle's arm back in a despairing swat. "Don't waste that on me, old friend, please."

"Lad-"

But he was gone by then and Hudson did not follow.

* * *

"It was you," he growled, "you left the door ajar."

Goliath stood once more in Xanatos' office, summoned by Burnett, and as he looked upon the newest painting, he could feel nothing save a numb annoyance. Xanatos had won and Goliath needed no more reminder. But what they had inflicted on Lexington, he knew to be pure spite, and even Xanatos had once seemed above that. Such an act was done and there was no force in heaven or earth that could undo that harm, a blame they both shared and lacked the power to fix.

"And why would I do that?" the man said from his seat, hands folded over knees.

"Have I displeased you somehow? You said the clan would be left alone. You gave me your word!"

"Then next time, you should check the door yourself."

Xanatos stood and left the chair spinning behind him, rising to meet Goliath's gaze, undaunted by the difference in size. For what reason had he to fear?

"You deluded yourself, Goliath," he said lowly, "I'm not a kind man. Reasonable, yes, but _kind_? It's really just another word for weak."

" _You_!" Goliath lifted him by the collar, snarling into Xanatos' face, unsure of who he would rather rip apart, himself or the man in his grip. Shuddering, he set Xanatos back down, the latter staring on him with dull eyes, as if everything between them had been nothing more than a wisp of smoke.

And then he fell. Goliath dropped to Xanato's waist, arms circling the man in a desperate clutch, all but burying his head under that familiar chest. Their breaths left in unison before the gargoyle spoke, one last plead to an imaginary king, the only one who had ever wanted him for the wretch he was.

" _David_ ," he sighed, "this needs to end. I must return to them."

Humbly, reverently, David caressed his hair, as if afraid a touch too strong would shatter him like glass. "I thought as much," he whispered back, "I'm a reasonable man."

David's knees buckled and he dipped, chin over Goliath's head as his hands continued to fondle the gargoyle's locks. "We end it tonight. But I ask one last thing of you."

"Speak."

"I believe Demona-" the name struck a phantom pang "-means to betray me. Defend me one more time tonight."

Goliath nodded and David kissed the crown of his head, bodies entwined as they half crumpled into a final embrace, held as if the sun would never rise.

* * *

_"So David triumphed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone; without a sword in his hand he struck down the Philistine and killed him."_

_\- 1 Samuel 17:50_

His enterprise was his domain and all within it, subjects chained to his beck and call. It was a child and he, the father that would protect it from all harm, real and unseen. There were developing firearms within and he had no desire to share them without permission. This in mind, David surveyed the wooden warehouse by the dock, scanning for any signs of intrusion from within the crimson suit. Above, Owen piloted the chopper as he aided the task, and below, Goliath crawled in shadow.

"Moonless nights, the worst aren't they?" he muttered into the receiver.

"Indeed, sir," Owen replied.

It was as moonless as his plan was pointless- there was nothing Demona could do that he and Owen could not drive back on their own. No, he supposed he wanted Goliath by his side for sentimental value. Allowing Lexington into the Magus' chambers had been an act of wanton cruelty, a means to repulse Goliath and remind him of who held the reins, to dispel the idea that David could possibly have regarded him as more than a toy, more than a dog. David had failed and he found that he was unwilling to let the gargoyle go.

Yes, he would miss their revelries but there was a sanctity between them now, a thread of whispered confessions and soulful exchanges. Goliath was a piece out of a book no longer- he was real, beautiful and broken and far more exquisite than any monarch David had ever trapped. He was an unraveled string and once it had reached its end, David only wished it would roll on.

"She's here," Owen announced.

David looked down, a blur of red and blue landing on the roof from the opposite way. She slid down the walls, wings open, and drew back a fist to strike the doors. Her former mate's shape rammed into her before she could enter. As the pair engaged in what went far beyond a lovers' spat, David descended.

He landed in time to see Demona kick Goliath away with a snarl. Eyes glowing red, she turned and tore her way through the warehouse, air broken by the sound of wood splintering against talons. Goliath pushed himself off the ground and tackled her once more, the two tumbling through that dark hole.

"Why do you bother!?" he heard her roar.

Demona emerged first through the ruined warehouse, arms clinging a laser half her size as she cackled into the sky. Goliath charged after her, the two speeding around one another like circling bullets. David raised an arm and steadied his aim. Demona hissed as a beam of red nicked her shoulder. David took the distraction as a chance to join them- he launched himself upwards on steel wings.

"Owen, be ready for back-up," he said.

"Understood, sir."

Goliath swung at the firearm, Demona twisting away before his touch could meet, and returned the action with a slap of her tail, forcing him out of range. David rushed between them and caught her returning tail. With a grin, he pulled her towards him.

"You!" she hissed.

"Good evening to you too."

She hoisted the weapon onto her shoulder and kneed his chest. David latched onto her leg and delivered a punch to her jaw. As Demona reeled, he couldn't help but think Fox fought with better technique. He dodged her slash and parried with a blow to her chest, but she refused to fall back this time. _Looks like I spoke too soon_.

She fell on him like a tendril of bloodlust, arms locking his into a deadly wrestle as the firearm balanced between them. He shifted and she turned, pushed as she pulled, clenched as she flipped. He fell back as her head collided with his in a burst of adrenaline, spots of her blood now clinging to his helmet. Demona pried herself away from him, tiara askew, and dug her hands into the armor. Body trembling with effort, she forced her way in, ripping away metal until an army of sparks sailed between them.

He grunted, blasting at her with a beam from the functional wrist, and as Demona dodged, she lifted the weapon.

"David!"

Goliath's shoulder slammed into his own and David was forced to the side, the gargoyle having sped at him in alarm. David turned to see Demona fire, the unmistakable click of a gun unlocking having followed. A flash of bright blue struck Goliath in the head and David saw himself extend a futile hand when dark wings sloped and the body crumpled. The gargoyle dropped like a stone bird and David could only stare as Goliath hit the dock below, head smashing like a watermelon in a splatter of red.

Watching her handiwork with wide eyes, Demona turned on him, as if it suddenly dawned on her that she had killed her mate. On David's behalf. Face contorting into a mask of agonized rage, she fired once more. David managed to dodge, the beam glancing half his suit and sending him plummeting towards the earth.

"Owen!"

He turned on his side and hit the dock in a fiery mess of steel. Ignoring the bumps and pains that now adorned him, David pushed his way out of the suit, broken nails clearing a path out of the ripped steal. He crawled out, coughing away smoke and looked toward Goliath's prone shape, unnervingly still against the unending swell of red that cushioned his head.

Demona and Owen forgotten, David hurried over, falling to his knees in a panic. He pressed a ear to the gargoyle's chest, listening for the sound of a slow heartbeat, one that seemed to be dimming by the minute. David removed his head and looked upon the damage Demona had wrought. Goliath's eyes were shut, lips parted as if he were only in a restful sleep. Blood coated his face, brushing over his eyes like a morbid sheet of paint, his hair fanned out in a wreath of crimson and black.

David touched his cheek, hand coming back spattered with red. He looked towards the sky, Demona now trying to escape the robotic copies of her once mate, Owen's back-up having arrived. David waved at the chopper and shouted, " _Owen! Down here!_ " Again and again until he felt his voice go hoarse.

And as he waited for the sound of Owen's descent, David wordlessly stroked the gargoyle's bloodied locks.

* * *

Hands in his pockets, David inspected the sterile room, the smell of antiseptic and iron all around, the operating table still fresh from use. He had wanted to look in before they restored it to its natural cleanliness. It wasn't often he made use of the Wyvern infirmary and he supposed it was a miracle they had even known how to treat their latest patient.

Dark hair littered the tiled floor, long strands piling upon one another until a stack of silky clumps lay in his path like a net of black and brown. They had shaved his head, down to the last lock of his mane. David held a strand between his fingers, its texture familiar and cold, a telltale warning that he may never fondle Goliath's hair again.

He checked his watch- more than seven hours until dawn. For all the power a man could have, he could not change the bend of season and time. This, he rather regretted. The doors behind him slid open as Owen entered.

"Mr. Xanatos, are you ready to leave?"

David blew the strand away. "One more stop. Anyway, how is he?"

"Goliath is still alive, sir."

He turned, brushing Owen's shoulder with cool fingers as he walked past. "You must be disappointed."

"Sir-"

"Just don't kill him on that bed. I'm not in the mood to deal with it."

David vaguely recalled the disappointment he had once felt when his prized monarch died on that seventh night, and this ache he felt now was not unfamiliar. Perhaps his words stung the Puck, perhaps they had come out unnecessarily, but David found that he honestly did not care. He had a phonecall to make.

* * *

"You were right."

"What'd I tell you, David?"

"I haven't felt this way in a long time. It's almost-"

"Refreshing?"

"Yes. Refreshing, disappointing, depressing, you might even say remorseful. Strange, I thought I left all that behind a long time ago. It was an interesting wake-up call, I suppose."

"You'll have to tell me all about it."

"I will."

"I'm dying to hear."

"..."

"David?"

"He's dying."

"..."

"Cracked skull, brain damage, severe hemorrhaging. He's dying, Fox, and we can't do a thing."

"Oh, David, I'm sorry..."

* * *

_"David took the Philistine's head and brought it to Jerusalem; he put the Philistine's weapons in his own tent."_

_1 Samuel 17:54_

He entered the infirmary, not afraid of what he would find but hoping to see what he wouldn't. He had wanted to be alone with the gargoyle. Goliath lay on a bed fashioned for two, still and ashen, his bare head swathed in bandages. The rest of his body was hidden by a white sheet pulled up to the chin. David had wanted to cut him down to size, this he remembered, and now that Goliath was reduced to this, he wanted nothing more than to look away.

He almost looked human in the dim light, the mane gone and lavender skin paled to a dusty grey. David had once called him magnificent. He thought of the creature that had fascinated him so, the leader of the Wyvern clan, tall and proud, moving as if there would always be wind beneath his wings. He was gone now, and in his place, a fallen thing lay.

"What are you doing here?" a voice said in a hushed snap.

The detective sat in a chair by the bed, vulnerable without her jacket, the gargoyle beast curled at her feet. She stared up at him, pained eyes puffed and bloodshot as the creature growled.

"Just checking. Don't forget who brought him in."

She snorted. "How could I? Look at him." She reached into the blanket, no doubt in an attempt to touch an unmoving hand, and gaze falling on Goliath's sleeping face, her features softened.

"You did this," she said. He offered no rebuttal.

"Where are the rest of them? Shouldn't they be here?"

"After Demona's blood. They'll probably come for you next. And I'll be there with them." She let out a long breath and spoke again in muter tones. "The three went off for Demona. And Hudson went to take them back. Fighting her won't fix-"

She stopped there, blinking back unshed tears.

"There's still a little way to daybreak," he said, placing a light hand on Goliath's face, Maza tensing at the contact. "If he just holds on until then."

She grabbed his wrist and all put pushed his hand away. "You were right, Xanatos. I wasn't just mad at you. It was at myself for not stopping you. You know why I wasn't here last night? They told me to keep away. For Goliath's peace of mind."

She squeezed hard enough to bruise. "But you know what, screw that and screw you. I'm here and I'm not making the same mistake."

She let go and glared, an incensed fire taking on a burden over twice its size. "I don't have an ounce of your power or a gargoyle's strength, but I don't care- I'm saving him from you and that's final."

"Then good luck, detective, on finding anything left to save."

Maza cursed him and David looked once more on Goliath, heart clutched by a dim pain. He had won, as fate had expected, and this victory filled him with nothing save a tired indifference. Goliath could offer him nothing more, body broken like a thread undone, and David knew he too could give nothing in return. So, he turned and left without another word.

The sky was moonless and there was nothing more for him to see.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading through that monster length of words and content! And again, I AM SORRY FOR WRITING THIS. If you feel the urge to flame me, don't feel guilty because I totally deserve it.
> 
> About the ending, I want to keep things ambiguous- you can decide for yourself whether Goliath makes it to dawn or not. Decided to make Demona cause his injury because it makes for nice irony, since he kept imagining her for comfort throughout the whole story lol. The last conversation poor Lexington had with Goliath was that scene in the courtyard, so there's some intense offscreen angst for him. What Xanatos feels is up for interpretation, but I wanted to make him genuinely upset over what happened- he doesn't feel guilty about what happened to Goliath's head, but he does feel bad about it if that makes any sense. On the plus side, Demona got away- good for her!
> 
> This will probably stay a standalone piece, but if I did do a sequel, it would either go even darker OR be the comfort part to follow this hurt/hurt fic. If it went the comfort route, it'd most definitely end with Goliath/Elisa, but not before some obligatory angst with Coldstone's arrival.
> 
> If it went the dark route, let's just say it ends up becoming an AU prequel to the AU in Future Tense with a focus on Lexington and Puck (and the premise that Goliath doesn't survive "Philistine").
> 
> Footnotes:
> 
> * From 1 Samuel 17:19 "Now what have I done?" said David, "Can't I even speak?"; in reply to his older brother Eliab asking him why he came to the battlefield
> 
> * The number 5. David took five stones and put them in his pouch before he went to the battlefield
> 
> * From 1 Samuel 17:50 So David triumphed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone; without a sword in his hand he struck down the Philistine and killed him.
> 
> * "David Slaying Goliath" by Peter Paul Rubens, circa 1616; it's currently at the Norton Simon Museum (because Xanatos doesn't exist)
> 
> * From Pseudo-Philo; After David strikes Goliath with the stone he runs to Goliath before he dies and Goliath says "Hurry and kill me and rejoice." and David replies "Before you die, open your eyes and see your slayer." Goliath sees an angel and tells David that it is not he who has killed him but the angel. (quoting the summary here)
> 
> * "David and Goliath" by Caravaggio, circa 1599
> 
> * The position Xanatos and Goliath take here mimics one side of "The Battle of David and Goliath" by Daniele Da Volterra (16th c.), the side with Goliath's back to the viewer
> 
> * "David and Goliath" by Orazio Gentileschi, circa. 1605-1607


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